Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1HEQSYG04DVM132FQEBNAT

Molly crouched behind the garden wall, peering at balloons bobbing over the fence like colorful witnesses. Bill unfolded a crayon-smeared map stolen from a refrigerator and frowned with professional disgust. “Front gate’s suicide,” Molly whispered. “Too many parents with folding chairs and opinions.” “Back gate, then,” Bill said. “I clocked one clown, two grandmothers, and a magician who looks medically tired.” “Magicians are always dangerous.” “So are grandmothers.” From the yard came a shriek of sugar-fueled joy, followed by the thud of a small body hitting a bouncy castle. Molly adjusted her black gloves, which made her look less like a criminal mastermind and more like a glamorous dishwasher. “When the cake arrives, everyone sings,” she said. “That’s our window.” “And the presents?” “Stacked by the patio doors under the banner with the misspelled pirate.” Bill nodded solemnly. “A tragic security failure.” A terrier in a party hat trotted past them carrying a sausage roll. Both thieves froze until it disappeared round the bins. “If we’re caught,” Bill murmured, “we say we’re exotic uncles.” “You can’t be an exotic uncle from Croydon.” “I’ll do an accent.” “You’ll do prison.” Inside, children howled the opening bars of Happy Birthday. Molly grinned. “Masks on.” Bill pulled a unicorn napkin over his face. “For the honour of organized crime,” he said. “And for the Lego set,” Molly replied.