Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0AHHZS7FZNFZG8QDVKWWYV

The dim glow of a streetlamp flickered through the parked getaway van, casting long shadows across the crumpled floor map of Sunnybrook Community Center. Molly squinted at the diagram, her fingers tracing the path from the side exit to the party hall. Bill leaned back against the dashboard, polishing a stolen candy cane between his teeth like a cigar. "According to my recon," Molly said, "the exit has an alarm. Simple five-second beep, easy to bypass with this." She pulled a square of black tape from her pocket. Bill chuckled, crumpling a candy wrapper into his palm. "That’s not a bypass, that’s a piece of duct tape. You might as well hang a neon sign saying 'Thieves Were Here.'" Molly rolled her eyes. "It muffles the beep. Basic preschool-level physics." "Preschoolers don’t run heists." Bill spit out a shard of peppermint. "What about the clown?" "Which one?" "The guy in the rainbow wig." Molly groaned, flipping the map over. "He’s a hired entertainer. Only there for two songs at 4:07 and 4:22. We time it right—gone before he even starts juggling scarves." Bill scratched his stubble. "And the kids?" "We’re not monsters. We don’t steal from kids. We steal *under* them. Layered psychological warfare—keep the surprise inside the presents, not in empty stockings." Bill laughed, loud and sudden, nearly spitting candy shrapnel. "That’s the best defense I’ve ever heard for stealing." Molly shot him a look. "We’re redistributing joy. The birthday kid gets a brand-new tablet next week from ‘Santa’s Early Delivery Service.’" "Santa’s emailing it?" "Pen pal program for underprivileged youths." Bill wiped tears from his eyes. "You’re gonna get us both that early intervention program where they read bedtime stories to criminals." Molly ignored him, unzipping a duffel bag full of gardening gloves. "Gloves. No prints. No DNA. No fun, but no orange jumpsuits." Bill picked up a tiny pink glove, dangling it from one finger. "We’re gonna look like we’re preparing to garden a crime scene." "We *are* preparing to garden a crime scene. Covering tracks." Bill tossed the glove back into the bag. "Fine. But when we get caught, I’m blaming you." Molly smiled. "Already did. Left my DNA on the tape seven ways." Bill barked another laugh. "Classic." A sudden loud *thud* came from the back of the van. Both froze. "Was that you?" Molly whispered. Bill shook his head, eyes wide. Another *thud*, followed by muffled giggles. They both exhaled in unison. A group of teenagers had climbed onto the roof, kicking soccer balls toward the drainpipe. Bill exhaled. "Good thing we’re not the only idiots out tonight." Molly zipped the bag shut. "But we’re the only ones planning to steal Christmas in July." Bill grinned, tossing her the key to the van. "Let’s go make some kids cry—nicely."