Run: 2026-07-25-01KYD5BEAABHV3KGTCSQTB8AQ1

Molly crouched behind a dumpster, her breath misting in the cold air. Bill paced nearby, jingling a handful of lockpicks like cheap coins. “We’re *serious*,” Molly hissed, nodding toward the house across the street. A banner hung crookedly over the porch: *“Lila’s Magical Unicorn Party – 3:00 PM!”* She shoved a crumpled blueprint into Bill’s hand. “The presents are in the spare room. We go in, grab the boxes, and we’re gone before anyone notices.” Bill squinted at the paper. “You sure about this? What if there’s a cop car? Or worse—a parent?” “Relax,” Molly said, adjusting her fake mustache—a terrible attempt at a beard. “We’ll use the backdoor. It’s unlocked. Probably.” “Unlocked? That’s a *huge* probably.” Bill pulled out a walkie-talkie. “What if we call ahead? ‘Hey, surprise party for… uh… a raccoon?’” “They’ll know it’s a setup.” Molly rolled her eyes. “We go as party crashers. I’ll dress like a magician. You’re… a clown?” “A *clown*? Are you kidding me?” Bill yanked at a oversized polka-dot bow tie. “I look like a deranged birthday cake.” “Exactly. No one suspects a clown.” She smirked. “Plus, you’re small. Easy to hide behind furniture.” “Ah yes, because nothing says ‘master thief’ like hiding behind a beanbag shaped like a dinosaur.” Bill sat cross-legged, examining a balloon animal. “What if the kid—” “She’s three,” Molly interrupted. “She’ll be too busy with the cupcakes to notice.” “Or too busy crying because we stole her pony.” “Focus.” Molly tapped the blueprint. “We enter at 3:15. Kids are distracted by the piñata. You create a ‘clown emergency’—fake a sneeze fit, drop the pie crusts. Chaos ensues. I slip in, grab the presents, and we meet outside in five.” Bill nodded slowly. “And if this fails?” “We’ll blame the raccoons.” “Genius.” He pulled a rubber chicken from his pocket. “Should I honk this too?” “Only if you’re feeling *bold*.” Molly stood, stretching. “Let’s roll before I change my mind.” They melted into the house’s shadow, the blueprint tucked safely in Molly’s pocket. Somewhere inside, a child’s laughter echoed—sharp and tinny, like a bell. “On your signal,” Bill whispered, brandishing the chicken like a weapon. Molly raised a finger. “Now,” he honked. The door swung open.