Run: 2026-10-09-01M4FZKPCW0VEC7V66456S8ZR7

Molly crouched behind the hedge, peering through the rain-slick windows of the Hendersons' bungalow. Inside, a dozen children shrieked over a bouncy castle that had been wheeled into the living room. "Right," Bill whispered, adjusting his ski mask over his bald head. "Phase one. We wait for the cake." "We wait for the cake," Molly repeated. "Bill, why is the cake phase one?" "Because cake distracts the parents. Everyone's too busy pretending they like Mrs. Henderson's sponge to watch the back door." Molly squinted. "That's not a plan. That's a snack schedule." "It's a plan with frosting." Bill pulled a crumpled clipboard from his coat. "Phase two is the back door. I've picked the lock already." "You picked the lock on the shed," Molly said. "The one with the rake in it." "Same principle." A pink balloon bumped against the window. Molly pressed herself flat against the wet grass. "Okay. Phase three?" "Phase three is the presents. Forty-two of them, according to my sources." "Your sources being?" "Little Tommy Henderson. He told me at the gate. He also told me his dad keeps a rubber chicken in the garage, which I found deeply suspicious." Molly sighed. "We are not stealing forty-two presents from eight-year-olds." "Seven-year-olds, mostly. And technically we're stealing from the Hendersons' spare room, where the presents are stacked. Nobody's getting robbed of their own birthday. We're liberating them." "Liberating them to where?" Bill grinned under the mask. "My nephew's bouncy castle business. He's been desperate for stock." "Bill." "Okay, okay, the pawnshop on Route Nine. Cash, no questions." A shriek rose from inside, followed by a crash that sounded suspiciously like a jelly bowl meeting a carpet. Molly glanced at the window, then back at her partner. "Fine. Show me the bag." Bill unzipped a duffel bag. Inside sat a deflated paddling pool, three pairs of novelty glasses, and a single, slightly chewed rubber chicken. "Bill, why do you have a chicken?" "Insurance," he said solemnly. "For when things go wrong." "Things are always going wrong with you." "And yet here we are, professionals, crouched in the hedge like champions." He patted her shoulder. "Ready?" Molly sighed, tightened her gloves, and nodded. "Let's go steal some birthday presents." "That's the spirit," Bill whispered, and they crept toward the back door.