Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0AT04DHAVH7JTTEXJZT1HX

Night dripped off the hedges as Molly and Bill crouched by the party tent. Paper lanterns swayed; the air smelled like sugar and marker ink. Bill’s mask fogged immediately. Molly tapped her wrist like a timekeeper, then pointed at the side door and the wall of waiting gift bags behind it. “Bill,” Molly whispered, “if one kid sees us, I’m blaming your eyebrows.” “My eyebrows are innocent,” Bill whispered back. “They’ve never committed a felony.” Molly smirked. “Good. Now: we lift everything, sort it fast, and leave before the parents do that ‘Where’s the…’ voice.” Bill nodded, then reached into his tiny tool pouch. “What if they ask for thank-you notes?” “We’ll write them with our feet,” Molly said. “Confident. Cruel. No punctuation.” Bill paused. “Is ‘cruel’ in the plan?” “Criminals love brand consistency,” Molly replied. “Besides, we’re taking presents, not hearts.” “Wow,” Bill murmured. “That’s almost poetic.” “It’s theft,” Molly corrected. “Poetry would imply feelings.” They slid toward the door. Music thumped. Somewhere, a child laughed like a distant alarm. “If a clown appears,” Bill said, “we’re what? Gift gremlins?” Molly winked. “No. We’re confused uncles. We’re here for… the dramatic surprise.”