Run: 2026-06-01-01KT1HSKWXSFTVXKYY9EB5H6XX

Molly spread the blueprints across the rickety table, smoothing out the crayon-stained paper she'd swiped from the community center's bulletin board. The floor plan of the Henderson residence looked less like a fortress and more like a place where dreams went to be smeared with frosting. "Are you absolutely certain about this?" Bill asked, peering over her shoulder while nervously twisting his fake mustache. "Robbing a six-year-old feels like a new low, even for us." "It's not robbing a child. It's strategically relocating gifts that haven't even been opened yet." Molly tapped the diagram. "Think of it as preventing spoiled behavior. We're practically heroes." Bill remained unconvinced, his eyes drifting to the crude drawing of a unicorn someone had scribbled in the corner of the page. He'd never been good at justifying their crimes, which was precisely why Molly handled the moral gymnastics. She circled the backyard with a red marker. "The bounce house is here. That's our entry point. The presents will be stacked on this table, near the piñata." "And the parents?" "Distracted. There's a magician scheduled for two o'clock." She grinned, clearly proud of her reconnaissance. "Nobody watches the gifts when there's a guy pulling rabbits out of hats. Basic human psychology." Bill paced the length of their cramped hideout, stepping over empty pizza boxes and yesterday's regrets. The plan was technically sound, but something gnawed at him beneath his cheap thrift-store blazer. "What about the dog?" he finally asked. Molly's confident expression flickered. "What dog?" "The Hendersons have a golden retriever named Biscuit. I saw it in their holiday photos online. Friendly-looking thing, but you never know." She waved him off dismissively. "Biscuit won't be a problem. We'll bring bacon. Every dog has a price, and that price is usually breakfast meat." Bill sank into a folding chair that groaned in protest. He'd been a thief for fifteen years, pilfered diamonds from galas and yanked wallets from oblivious tourists, but never once had his target list included balloon animals and party favors. Somehow, their criminal empire had shrunk to this pathetic dimension. "We've really hit rock bottom, haven't we?" he murmured. "Speak for yourself. I see opportunity." Molly began packing a duffel bag with suspicious enthusiasm. "Do you know what kids get these days? Tablets. Gaming consoles. Premium action figures still in their original packaging. We could clear three grand, easy." That number caught his attention. Three grand would cover rent, plus the gambling debt he hadn't mentioned to her yet. "Fine," Bill conceded, rising to his feet with renewed determination. "But if a toddler starts crying, we abort. I have limits, Molly. I have a soul somewhere in here." "Your soul can buy us groceries after we pull this off." She tossed him a clown nose, the centerpiece of their disguise. "Now put this on. We're going to a party." He stared at the red foam ball in his palm, contemplating every life decision that had led to this exact moment, then sighed and snapped it onto his face.