Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCXKVKSZ0JJFWKB4S6HVCZ7

Molly spread the blueprints across the hood of the borrowed sedan, tapping a red circle around a suburban ranch house. "Party starts at two. That's our window." Bill leaned over, his breath smelling like the gas station burrito he'd regretted since noon. "Kids' parties are loud. Perfect cover." "Exactly. Balloons pop louder than lock picks." Bill squinted at the diagram, which was mostly a napkin with crayon. "How many presents?" "Forty? All wrapped in paper screaming expensive electronics." Bill nodded, adjusting his ski mask, actually a stretched unicorn onesie with the horn sliced off for visibility. "Disguise is key. I go as entertainment." "You're going as what?" "A clown. Edgy. Recently paroled circus performer." Molly rolled her eyes, though her mouth betrayed her. "You're going as our lookout in the bushes." "Bushes? In December? I have delicate sinuses." She pulled a glittery invitation from her pocket, stolen from a mailbox. "Read this. Magical Winter Wonderland for Timmy's Fifth. There's a bouncy castle, Bill." "Wait, there's a bouncy castle?" "Focus. We enter through the sliding door while parents watch a magician pull quarters from toddlers' ears." Bill scratched his chin through the onesie's neck hole. "What if kids see us?" "Kids are short. We'll be ceiling height. Plus sugar crash hits at three-thirty. That's extraction." He pointed at the map's back, a grocery list. "Where's the stash?" "Living room, under a nine-foot artificial pine tree with LED trauma. Bag and tag in ninety seconds." "Ninety? Last job needed ninety seconds to agree on radio channels." "This is precision. You carry the sack—Santa sack, ironic—while I kill the Ring with this magnet." She held up duct-tape wrapped hardware. "Then vanish like ghosts." Bill looked skeptical, then hungry. "What about the dog? Invitation lists Sprinkles, golden retriever." "Sprinkles is diabetic and sleeps through storms. I checked records." "You hacked a vet?" "Bribed a receptionist with scratchers. Details, Bill." He sighed, pulling on fingerless gloves—style, he claimed. "Okay. But if there's a piñata, I'm smashing it. For morale." Molly started the engine, the car coughing like an asthmatic reindeer. "Deal. Fill it with gifts, not candy. Professionals." "Debatable." "In at two-oh-five, out by two-fifteen, richer by LEGO and hoverboards." Bill climbed in, the horn flopping onto the dash. "One condition." "What?" "If Timmy cries, we leave a note. Something nice. Not our real names." "How about The Winter Wraiths?" She pulled into traffic, grinning. "You're an idiot." "And you're missing three hubcaps. Let's rob a birthday." "Seatbelt, horn." "Already flopped. Let's go."