Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0AS4W1N39SVSBZFBCZ0M1M

Molly chewed on her pen cap as she leaned over the blueprint of the McAllister residence, where every parent’s worst nightmare—a child’s birthday party—was about to happen. Across from her, Bill was stacking tiny plastic cups into a pyramid, pretending they were the presents they were about to steal. "This is going to be easier than swiping candy from a baby," Molly said, tapping the floor plan. The living room was a fortress of balloons and flickering candles, but the presents were lined up like soldiers, surrounded by a moat of screaming children. Bill frowned at the tower of cups he’d built. "Unless those kids have tastebuds, they’re gonna notice if we replace the birthday cake with a cake made of solid gold bricks." Molly rolled her eyes. "Relax. We’re not touching the cake. We’re hitting the presents *before* the cake gets sliced. Once those kids are focused on the piñata, we move in like ghosts." Bill groaned. "Piñatas are just balloons full of regret. You ever try to sneak anything past a toddler mid-piñata? Half those kids have already got a black eye from swinging too hard." Molly ignored him, tracing a route from the backyard patio to the living room with her finger. "We come in through the side gate. Utility shed’s unlocked—might have a ladder. Once we’re on the roof, we drop down through the skylight." Bill’s pyramid of cups collapsed. "Flying lessons weren’t in the brochure." "Will you stop being dramatic? It’s a forty-year-old house with windows that don’t even lock right." Bill picked up the cups and sighed. "You realize we’re gonna have a room full of parents who probably haven’t had coffee in six years, all clutching plastic forks like they’re guarding the Holy Grail?" Molly grinned. "And we’re sneaking past them with a duffel bag full of toys." "Yeah, toys they spent three weeks agonizing over at Target." Molly patted his shoulder. "That’s the beauty of it. By the time they figure out what happened, we’ll be long gone, and those kids will have forgotten their presents exist in three days anyway." Bill stared at the blueprint, then at the now-empty cup shelf. "What if one of them remembers the remote control car before we grab it?" Molly snapped the pen cap back over her pen. "Then we improvise. Maybe we bribe a kid with a handful of goldfish crackers to keep their mouth shut for five minutes." Bill pinched the bridge of his nose. "We’re using goldfish as currency now?" Molly winked. "Desperate times, Bill." Bill exhaled, defeated. "Fine. But if we get caught, I’m telling them you made me dress like a clown." Molly gasped. "I would *never*. That’s your thing." Bill didn’t look reassured.