Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0ACABKMQBVY5333RP0GWV2

Molly adjusted her striped beanie while the moonlight slid across the suburban lawn like it was trying to mind its own business. Bill held a clipboard that definitely didn’t belong to any adult with a job, because it was filled with stick-figure diagrams of mousetrap placements and one horrifying drawing labeled “CONFIDENCE.” From the living room came muffled squeals, the kind generated when someone discovers confetti or a new dinosaur-themed sticker sheet. Molly glanced at the front door, then at Bill. “We’re not stealing joy. We’re relocating it.” Bill nodded solemnly, then whispered, “Relocating joy to our secret lair museum.” Molly smirked and slid a thin tool into the lock with the grace of a person who’d watched three YouTube tutorials and ignored all warnings. The latch clicked. Somewhere inside, a balloon bobbed like it knew too much. Bill inhaled, then tried to look casual, which only made him look like a baked potato in a tuxedo. “Remember: no touching the cupcake bar,” Molly said, stepping through first. “Unless the cupcakes have valuables,” Bill replied, already reaching for a clipboard-shaped flourish. Molly glanced back, eyes narrowing. “You can’t steal sprinkles.” “Bold of you to assume the sprinkles aren’t diamonds,” Bill whispered. They slipped deeper into the hallway, listening to the children laugh like tiny alarms, and Molly quietly reminded him, “If anyone asks, we’re… special delivery.” Bill saluted with two fingers. “Special delivery of stolen presents. Now lead the way, maestro.”