Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0AQDKTPCT874KSM91QBK3W

“Okay, Bill, breathe like you’re trying to impress a golden retriever, not like you just swallowed a smoke alarm,” Molly whispered, crouched behind the prize-table banner. “I’m impressed by how calm you are,” Bill hissed back. “I’m not calm. I’m… pre-panicked.” “Great. Panic is good for cardio,” Molly said. “Now listen. We are here for the presents. All of them.” “All of them?” Bill echoed. “Molly, last time you said ‘all of them’ and we ended up with a single novelty kazoo and a life-sized ceramic dolphin.” “That dolphin was magnificent,” Molly said. “But this time, we’re going for the grand haul. We’re going in, we’re out, nobody cries, nobody whistles, and if anyone yells, you yell ‘Merry Christmas’ like you’re in a musical.” “Is that a plan or a cry for help?” Bill asked. “Plan,” Molly said. “Help later.” Bill peered over the fence into the yard. Children shrieked somewhere beyond the hedge, followed by the thump of balloons being murdered into place. “I see the bouncy castle.” “Perfect. We’ll use it as camouflage,” Molly said. “You plan to steal presents while hiding inside a bouncy castle?” “It’s… stealth-adjacent,” Molly said. “Also, it squeaks. Nobody notices squeaking if there’s also laughing.” Bill shifted his weight. “What if the parents have… like… security cameras?” Molly rolled her eyes. “Bill, this is a children’s party. The only security they have is the mom with the clipboard and the dad who says, ‘I think we’re good’ every ten seconds.” “That’s not security,” Bill muttered. “It’s confidence,” Molly corrected. “And confidence is a weakness in every criminal.” Bill tugged at his gloves. “Okay. How do we get inside?” Molly held up a tiny, glittery card. “I already made friends.” “You made friends?” “Technically,” Molly said, “I exchanged pleasantries with a teenager holding a roll of tape. I told her I was with ‘Party Supply Management’ and asked if the glitter was biodegradable. She said, ‘Probably not,’ and then she let me ‘walk around and check things.’ People love paperwork.” Bill blinked. “You conned a teenager with science anxiety.” “I’m a multifaceted criminal,” Molly said. “Now, you take the gift bags. I take the big boxes.” “What big boxes?” Bill asked. “The yard looks like it’s drowning in gift wrap.” “The big boxes have the loudest bows,” Molly said. “Loud bows equal expensive presents.” Bill pointed. “That one says ‘To: Detective Harper.’ That’s kid stuff.” “Kids can still afford theft,” Molly said. “Emotionally. They’ll just be sad temporarily, then they’ll get over it and learn about resilience.” “They learn resilience by getting robbed?” Bill asked. “Resilience is just robbery with better branding,” Molly said. “Now shut up and follow.” Bill drew a breath. “I just want to remind you: we are stealing presents from children.” Molly glanced at him. “Bill, we are stealing presents from the concept of greed. Don’t moralize me.” “That makes no—” Bill started. “Quiet!” Molly hissed, then waved. “Strategy moment.” Two kids ran past, dragging a streamer between them like it was a sword. “They’re fast,” Bill whispered. “Fast is fine,” Molly said. “If they bump into us, we’ll become temporary decorations. Say something festive.” Bill stared. “What do I say? ‘Oh look, another balloon animal’?” “No,” Molly said. “You say, ‘Whoa, kid-powered physics!’ Then you smile with your whole face.” “My whole face?” Bill asked. “Yes. Your eyes, your eyebrows, even your… soul,” Molly said. Bill gulped. “Okay. I can do soul-smiling.” A gust of laughter swept over the yard. Molly glanced toward the living room, where the presents were piled beneath a sign that read, in glitter letters, THANK YOU SANTA (YOU’RE DOING GREAT). “Bill.” “Yeah?” “We cannot steal directly in front of the tree,” Molly said. “There’s always an adult who insists on watching. The tree area is spiritually monitored.” Bill nodded as if he understood the spiritual part. “So we hit the presents near the hallway.” “Exactly,” Molly said. “We take the ones with the bows that don’t match the wrapping paper. That’s where the parents hid the ‘nice stuff.’” “Parents always hide the nice stuff,” Bill muttered. “Like snacks.” “And like guilt,” Molly said. “Which I’m collecting for later.” Bill leaned closer. “If someone asks what we’re doing…” Molly immediately answered, “We’re lost.” “Lost?” “Everyone gets lost at a children’s party,” Molly said. “It’s like a maze designed by snacks. You say, ‘Is this the way to the piñata?’ and then point in the opposite direction.” Bill frowned. “That seems risky.” “It’s foolproof,” Molly said. “Children have never successfully navigated toward piñatas. Adults are worse.” Bill took a step toward the door. “Okay. On your signal.” Molly held up two fingers. “On my signal. But also—” “Also what?” “If anything goes wrong,” Molly said, “you do not improvise.” “I’m an improviser,” Bill protested. “That’s why I’m making this a rule,” Molly replied. “Got it?” Bill swallowed. “Got it. No improvising. Follow instructions.” Molly’s eyes sparkled with criminal satisfaction. “Good. Then remember your line.” “My line?” Bill asked. Molly leaned in. “Whoa, kid-powered physics!” Bill nodded like a soldier. “Whoa, kid-powered physics.” “Wonderful,” Molly whispered. “Now—three… two…” A child’s voice rang out, “Mom! Is there a Santa helper?” Bill froze. “Molly, they heard you.” Molly smiled too brightly. “Bill. Your soul smile.” Bill smiled, then immediately wheezed. “Whoa, kid-powered physics!” The child grinned. “Cool! Are you helping Santa?” Molly stepped forward, smooth as a thief-shaped lullaby. “Yes, yes,” she said. “We’re totally helping Santa.” Bill whispered, “She bought it.” Molly whispered back, “Children buy everything. Adults too, if it’s in glitter.” “Okay,” Bill said, aiming his gaze at the present pile. “Where do we start?” Molly’s hand hovered over the largest box. “We start with the biggest bow that looks like it could open without crying.” Bill stared. “Is that… a thing?” “It is now,” Molly said, then paused. “On my signal.” Bill nodded once, solemn and terrified. “On your signal.”