Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09ZF86T7HABHGS839BW42K

Molly crouched behind a bush, her fingers tapping impatiently against the fence they planned to climb. Bill knelt beside her, squinting at the party in the distance—a cluster of balloons tied to chairs, a banner that read *Happy Birthday, Timmy!* in uneven letters. "Alright, genius," Molly whispered, "walk me through this again. Because last time you swore the silverware was just sitting in a drawer." Bill adjusted his gloves, which were two sizes too big. "It’s not silverware this time. It’s *gifts*. Kids leave ‘em in plain sight. No locks, no alarms, just pure, unguarded loot." Molly groaned. "You mean we’re breaking into a *children’s party*? Bill, that place is a deathtrap. There’s probably a clown. I hate clowns." "Relax," Bill said, waving a hand. "Clowns don’t scare me. I once pickpocketed one in Vegas. Handed him his own nose back." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "That’s not how pickpocketing works." "Semantics." Bill peeked over the fence. "Look, there’s the cake table. Pyramid of presents under it. We grab and go before anyone notices." Molly squinted. "That’s not a pyramid. That’s a pile. A *disorganized* pile. Bill, what if Timmy’s parents are onto us?" Bill scoffed. "Timmy’s parents are too busy herding toddlers to notice anything. Besides, we’re not even *stealing* from Timmy. We’re stealing from *other parents*. It’s like robbing the rich to pay the rich." Molly exhaled sharply. "That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said." "Thank you." A sudden shriek erupted from inside the house. Molly flinched. "What was that?" Bill shrugged. "Kid threw a tantrum. Happens every time." "No, no, no," Molly hissed. "That’s not a tantrum, that’s *aggressive giggling*. Kids don’t giggle like that unless they’re plotting something." Bill waved her off. "Kids giggle. It’s what they do." Molly grabbed his arm as a small figure in a dinosaur costume darted past the window. "Bill," she whispered urgently, "that’s not Timmy. That’s *security*." Bill’s face paled. "What?" Molly pointed. "Dinosaur costume? Holding a *walkie-talkie*? That’s Timmy’s older cousin, Darren. He’s *ten*. He’s also a menace." Bill groaned. "Oh, come on. Ten-year-olds don’t run security. They run *chaos*." "Same thing," Molly muttered. She grabbed Bill’s collar. "We’re not doing this. I’m not getting outsmarted by a kid who still sleeps with a stuffed T-Rex." Bill hesitated, then nodded. "Alright, alright. New plan. We go around back. The cake table’s near the slide. No one watches the slide." Molly raised an eyebrow. "Why not?" "Because it’s a *slide*. Slides are for *sliding*, not for *guarding*." Bill grinned. "Besides, who’s gonna follow us down a plastic death trap?" Molly exhaled, defeated. "Fine. But if we get stuck at the bottom and some parent blames us for their kid’s broken arm, I’m throwing you down the hill first."