Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1HA8EWB6D4CP1A4HMK6FZ3

Molly crouched behind the garden wall, peering over a hedge strung with balloons and a banner that sagged, threatening to spell HAPY BIRHDAY TIMMY. “Bill,” she whispered, “tell me again why we’re robbing a six-year-old.” “Because,” Bill said, adjusting a tiny paper crown as if it were tactical gear, “children possess two things in abundance: presents and weak perimeter security.” Inside the yard, a clown tripped over a sprinkler and saluted nobody. Parents laughed with the blind confidence of people who had never met professionals. Molly checked her watch. “We go in during cake. Maximum chaos, minimum vigilance.” “Classic frosting diversion,” Bill said. “I’ll blend with the dads. You mingle with the aunts. Try not to look criminal.” “I always look festive,” Molly said, straightening a cardigan covered in ducks. “What about the dog?” Bill glanced at the bulldog asleep beside the gift table, snoring like a faulty accordion. “Bribed. Half a sausage roll.” “And the children?” “Sugar-drunk and structurally unsound.” A shriek erupted as a magician produced a dove that immediately flew into the punch bowl. Molly grinned. “That’s our window.” Bill nodded, producing a large empty sack decorated with smiling dinosaurs. “Shall we commit a birthday?” “With dreadful manners,” Molly said, and together they strolled toward the gate, wearing the expressions of people prepared to clap for magic.