Run: 2026-02-18-01KHQ926P2D3BCG91WT7Q2ZS5Z

The rain hammered against the windshield of the rusted van as Molly spread the hand-drawn map across the dashboard. She had spent three days on surveillance, watching the neighbourhood, counting the cars, timing the gaps between the postman and the nosy woman with the terrier at number forty-two. This was going to be the job that set them up for at least a month. Possibly two if the birthday kid was as spoiled as she suspected. Bill ate a crisp loudly. "Will you stop that," Molly said. "I'm hungry. Stakeouts make me hungry." "Everything makes you hungry." "That's not true." He thought about it. "Funerals don't make me hungry." Molly pressed her finger against the map, specifically against the small drawing of a bouncy castle she had rendered in blue biro. "The presents will be piled in the hallway. Parents always do that. They come in, dump the gift, go straight for the prosecco. The hallway is our window." "How long is our window?" "Twelve minutes. Maybe fourteen if someone brings a vegetable platter because then everyone stands around pretending they'll eat it." Bill nodded slowly, processing this. "What if the kid opens presents early?" "Kids don't open presents until the end. It's like the law of children's parties. Cake, then presents. It's immovable." "My nephew opened his presents first at his last birthday." "Your nephew," Molly said carefully, "is a sociopath." Bill considered this and appeared to agree. He reached for another crisp and then thought better of it under Molly's gaze. Outside the rain softened briefly before deciding it hadn't been raining nearly enough and doubling its efforts. The house sat at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, cheerful and oblivious, balloons tied to the gate post in yellow and green, bobbing frantically in the wind like they were trying to warn someone. The sound of children screaming in the specific register that indicated either tremendous joy or a minor catastrophe drifted across the street. "We go in through the side gate, across the patio, in through the front door which the parents always leave on the latch, grab the bags, and we're back in the van in under three minutes," Molly said. "What are we wearing?" "What do you mean what are we wearing?" "Disguises. Are we doing disguises?" Molly stared at him. "We're robbing a children's party, Bill, not performing at one." "I just think if we looked like we belonged there, nobody would question us." "We are two adults with no children entering a stranger's house during a birthday party." "So no disguises." "Absolutely no disguises." Bill reached into the back seat and produced a clown wig. Molly looked at it for a very long time. "I'm not wearing that," she said. "It was on sale." "I don't care if they were paying you to take it." Bill put the wig on anyway. Molly started the engine and refused to acknowledge him for the next four minutes.