Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0A285QYW4HJAKHAKX45A7Z

The alley behind the pastel house smelled like frosting and bad decisions. Molly crouched by the hedge, whispering, “Bill, if a toddler sees us, we’re done.” Bill adjusted his grappling hook like it was a résumé. “Relax, I’ve practiced being invisible.” “You practiced being loud,” Molly said. “I practiced being confident.” “Confidence is how you get caught.” Bill held up a laminated map. “I mapped the security cameras.” “Those are toy dinosaurs,” Molly replied. “Technically, they still count as cameras.” Molly snorted, then slid a tiny crowbar from her pocket. “What’s our entry plan?” Bill grinned. “We wait for the piñata.” “That’s not a plan, that’s chaos.” “Chaos is my specialty.” Molly leaned closer. “Remember: we only steal the presents.” Bill clasped his hands. “Right. All presents. No stealing the juice boxes.” Molly stared. “Why would you steal juice boxes?” “Because they’re everywhere, and they whisper, ‘Bill, you deserve happiness.’” Molly glanced at the window. Kids were giggling. “If you hear your name, that’s not the juice boxes.” Bill’s eyes widened. “It might be the juice boxes.” Molly hissed, “Bill.” Bill sighed. “Fine. No juice boxes. Just the presents.” Molly nodded once. “Then on three, we go.” Bill whispered, “One.” Molly whispered, “Two.” Bill whispered, “I’m already regretting this.” “Three,” Molly said, and the hedge swallowed them like a guilty secret.