Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1GWEN2TKZ1Y5AAY7F69BTZ

Molly crouched behind the hedge, studying the bouncing castle as if it were a bank vault painted by lunatics. Balloons bobbed over the garden fence, and somewhere a clown honked with the grim authority of a foghorn. Bill adjusted his flat cap and peered at the sugar-frosted battlefield. “Right,” Molly whispered, “we go in smiling, leave carrying loot, and never make eye contact with the magician.” “Why not the magician?” “Because they can smell guilt and pull scarves out of it.” Bill nodded solemnly. “Fair. I’ve brought the decoy.” He held up a tray of sausage rolls with all the pride of a jeweler displaying diamonds. “Excellent,” said Molly. “Parents see pastry, they lose all defensive instincts.” “And the children?” “We strike during cake. Buttercream creates chaos. Tiny hands, sticky faces, no witnesses worth trusting.” Bill squinted toward the gift table. “That’s a lot of presents.” “That,” Molly said, “is a retirement plan wrapped in dinosaurs.” A shriek erupted as a child cannoned into a paddling pool. Molly smiled like an admiral spotting favorable winds. “I still say disguises would help.” “We are disguised. You’re ‘Uncle Bill.’ I’m ‘Mum’s friend from yoga.’” “I can’t do yoga.” “You don’t need to. Just look flexible morally.” Bill inhaled, straightened, and offered her a sausage roll. “To crime?” “To birthdays,” Molly said, taking it, “the soft underbelly of civilization.”