Run: 2026-09-25-01M3CKGHRMH38FYABMYGYTTEBD

Molly adjusted her Santa hat, the jingle bell on the tip tinkling ominously. "You sure this is the right house? The invite said ‘Pony Rides and Piñatas,’ not ‘Trap House for Thieves.’" Bill squinted at the clipboard he’d swiped from the mailbox. "Says here the Johnson kid’s turning eight. Eight-year-olds get the good loot—iPads, LEGO Death Stars, that kind of stuff. Plus, parents are too busy herding sugar-crazed gremlins to notice us." "Unless one of those gremlins notices us first." Molly nodded at a boy in a dinosaur costume who was currently licking the frosting off a cupcake like it owed him money. "That one looks like he’d sell us out for a juice box." Bill scratched his chin. "We go in as the entertainment. I’ll be the magician, you be the… uh…" "Clown?" Molly deadpanned. "Exactly. Clowns are terrifying. No one questions a terrifying clown." Molly sighed. "Fine. But if I have to make balloon animals, I’m charging you extra." She pulled a red nose from her pocket and stuck it on. "How do I look?" "Like a criminal who’s about to traumatize a generation." Bill adjusted his top hat, which had a suspiciously bulging crown. "I’ve got the lockpicks in here. And the smoke pellets, just in case." "Smoke pellets at a kids’ party? Bill, we’re not robbing Fort Knox. We’re robbing a bunch of minions who still believe in cooties." "Cooties are real, Molly. And so is the security system I saw on the back door." Molly groaned. "You didn’t mention a security system." "It’s fine. I’ve got this." He pulled out a walkie-talkie. "I hacked the nanny’s frequency. She’s currently distracted by a glitter bomb in the bathroom." "You *what*?" "Relax. It’s just glitter. Non-toxic. Mostly." A shriek erupted from inside the house, followed by the sound of tiny feet stampeding. Molly grabbed Bill’s arm. "That’s our cue. Move." They slipped through the side gate, dodging a rogue Nerf dart. The backyard was chaos—kids swinging at a piñata, parents sipping punch like it was liquid courage, and a very confused pony chewing on a party hat. Bill nodded toward the gift table, piled high with wrapped boxes. "Jackpot. But we’ve got, what, five minutes before someone notices?" Molly cracked her knuckles. "Plenty of time. You distract, I’ll grab." "Distract how?" She grinned. "Ever seen a clown do the Macarena?" Bill paled. "I hate you." Molly was already shuffling toward the center of the yard, her polka-dot pants flapping in the breeze. Bill took a deep breath, adjusted his hat, and muttered, "Please let this work." Then he pulled a live rabbit from his sleeve. The kids screamed with delight. Molly, mid-Macarena, whispered, "That’s not in the plan." Bill shrugged. "Improvise."