Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1HA6GQMK8QHR893E1AQG7X

Molly and Bill crouched behind a hedge shaped like a startled rabbit, studying the back garden where balloons bobbed like surveillance devices and a clown wrestled a folding table into submission. The children’s party was in full swing: shrieking, cake-smearing, a kind of cheerful anarchy that made serious crime feel almost respectable. Bill adjusted his flat cap and peered at the mountain of gifts stacked beneath a banner reading HAPPY EIGHTH BIRTHDAY, OLIVER!!! in letters large enough to shame a satellite. “Too many kids,” Bill muttered. “Too much wrapping paper,” Molly replied. She unfolded the hand-drawn plan, which looked less like a blueprint and more like a treasure map produced during a mild earthquake. Step one involved blending in with the entertainers. Step two relied heavily on confusion, a resource the average child produced in industrial quantities. Near the patio, a magician pulled a coin from his own ear and looked startled to find it there. Parents laughed nervously, already defeated. Molly smiled with professional admiration. Amateur distraction, but spirited. Bill eyed a tray of sausage rolls passing by in the hands of a harried aunt. “We go in as catering?” Molly shook her head. “No. Clowns.” A scream rose from the bouncy castle, followed by applause. Bill sighed, resigned to greasepaint, tiny hats, and larceny among juice boxes.