Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCWVYKC99VMMGGWZANM0H48

The balloon arch had collapsed in on itself like a failed soufflé, leaving Molly crouching behind a fold of crepe paper that smelled aggressively of strawberry syrup. She adjusted her black turtleneck and whispered into the darkness, "Bill, tell me you brought the sack that doesn't have unicorns on it." Bill slithered in beside her, dragging a burlap bag printed with shimmering magical creatures. "It's festive, Molly. We are stealing from children. If we are going to be monsters, we might as well match the aesthetic." "Monsters don't giggle," Molly said. "Listen to them. Twelve five-year-olds in a sugar trance. The birthday boy just opened a robotic dinosaur that shoots foam darts. His mother is already crying in the kitchen." Bill peeked around the corner. "Perfect. Emotional distraction. Did you disable the baby monitor?" "I replaced it with a loop of static," Molly said. "But Bill, there's a problem. The presents aren't where the invitation said. They moved them." "Moved them where?" "Under the bouncy castle." Bill groaned. "You want me to crawl under an inflatable fortress while toddlers ricochet like ping-pong balls?" "I want you to be the hero I married," Molly said, "before I fake a food allergy and burn this place down." "Your mother warned me about your temper," Bill muttered, but he was already rolling onto his belly. "If I die under there, tell the kids I was the ghost of good manners." Molly followed, shoving the unicorn sack ahead of her. "Just grab the boxes with the biggest ribbons. Those have the expensive electronics inside. And avoid the piñata. It's full of broken promises and cheap candy." They emerged into the cavern beneath the castle, a dim kingdom of plastic and echoing laughter. Bill reached up and snagged a towering stack of gifts wrapped in holographic paper. "Got three. One feels like a drone." "Excellent," Molly said, stuffing them into the sack. "Hand me that one with the gold bow. I think it's a tablet." Bill tugged. "It's taped shut with industrial-grade glitter glue. This child has security training." "Then we take the tape too," Molly said. "Bill, you're sweating through your gloves." "I am sweating because a five-year-old named Madison just asked if I was the Easter Bunny's divorce lawyer," Bill said. "She is staring at my boots. They are not bunny-like." Molly grabbed his elbow. "Smile. You're festive. You're a very tall elf with a sack problem." "I'm a felon, Molly." "Same thing in tax terms." They stuffed the last package—something heavy and rectangular—into the unicorn sack just as the lights flickered above. The bouncy castle deflated with a long, tragic wheeze. "That's our cue," Molly said, hoisting the bulging bag over her shoulder. "Run like you're late for your own probation hearing." Bill scrambled backward, tripping over a streamer. "I hate you, Molly." "You love the crime," she said, dragging him toward the garden gate. "Next year, we do the petting zoo. Fewer drones, more goats." Bill paused at the fence, looking back at the chaos they'd left behind. "We are terrible people." "We are efficient people," Molly corrected, vaulting over the gate with surprising grace. "And Bill? Lose the unicorn bag in the river." "With pleasure." He grinned, adjusting the strap. "But I'm keeping the sack for laundry." Molly shook her head, already counting boxes in her head. "Let's get out before the parents realize the presents are missing and start blaming the magician. I never liked that guy anyway."