Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1HJGS54KHS053HSY4HWXMM

Molly flattened the blueprints of the community hall with both palms, as if the paper itself were trying to wriggle free and alert the authorities. The plans had originally belonged to a man proposing an extension for “more bouncy-castle storage,” which Molly considered the noblest kind of civic paperwork. Rain ticked at the attic window. Below them, the bakery’s night ovens exhaled warm sugar into the floorboards, making the entire criminal enterprise smell faintly of iced buns. Bill crouched on an upturned crate, wearing his serious face, which was the same as his ordinary face except he held a pencil behind one ear. On the crate beside him sat a stuffed giraffe they’d borrowed for research. Its expression suggested deep concern. “The gifts are stacked here,” Molly said, tapping the plan near the stage. “By the cake table, under the banner, and directly in the blast radius of fifteen six-year-olds.” Bill squinted. “Six-year-olds are erratic. They move in packs, they scream without warning, and they have no respect for a clean getaway.” “Exactly why timing matters.” He leaned forward. “What’s our entry?” “Tradespeople. Balloon technician and emergency magician.” Bill blinked. “Emergency magician?” “In case the regular one fails to produce a rabbit, catches fire, or is revealed to be a geography teacher in a waistcoat. It happens.” Bill considered this with solemn professionalism. “And my qualifications?” “You once made my watch disappear.” “I dropped it in a custard tart.” “Still disappeared.” Molly slid two forged badges across the paper. One had a cartoon clown on it and the words BOUNCE-SAFE EVENTS. The other simply read BILL, PRESTIDIGITATION RESERVE. Bill picked his up. “I look underpaid.” “That’s authenticity.” From downstairs came a metallic crash and the baker shouting at someone called Neville. Molly lowered her voice. “At two-thirty, the party reaches peak chaos. Cake is cut, parents stop counting children correctly, and attention collapses into a sugary crater. You wheel in the balloon cart.” “The one with the false bottom?” “The very one. Meanwhile I’m behind the stage curtain, loading presents into the compartment. Dolls, board games, remote-control dinosaurs, that sort of thing.” “No bicycles?” “Too visible. We’re thieves, not seasonal labourers.” Bill rubbed his hands. “Then we roll the cart out the side fire exit, into the alley, and vanish into the afternoon like misunderstood uncles.” Molly smiled despite herself. Bill’s plans always sounded better once spoken aloud, as though confidence were ninety percent of larceny and the other ten was hinges. “There is one complication,” she said. “There’s always one complication.” “The birthday child is apparently ‘exceptionally observant.’” Bill frowned at the blueprint as if the child might be marked in red. “How observant?” “Teacher called him ‘forensically nosy.’” “Awful trait in the young.” Molly reached into her satchel and produced a small velvet pouch. Bill watched as she tipped out a scatter of marbles that glimmered like boiled sweets. “What are those for?” he asked. “Contingencies.” “You can’t throw marbles at children.” “I’m not throwing them at children. I’m rolling them near the entertainer. Nothing dismantles a room faster than a grown man in giant shoes losing his footing.” Bill let out a scandalized laugh. “That’s appalling.” “It’s elegant.” He pointed at the stuffed giraffe. “What about disguise enhancement? We need to look festive but forgettable.” Molly lifted the giraffe and settled a tiny paper hat between its ears. “A lesson in overcommitment. One of us wears the hat, no one trusts us. The giraffe wears the hat, we seem whimsical by association.” “We’re bringing the giraffe?” “We are not savages, Bill. Every children’s party contains at least one inexplicable large toy.” He nodded slowly, converted. “And if the observant child questions us?” Molly folded the plans with a snap. “You make a balloon sword, I sigh as though management has failed me again, and we ask where his parents are.” Bill stood, took the badge, and tucked the giraffe under his arm. “Molly,” he said, with the grave excitement of a man approaching destiny through bun-scented floorboards, “this may be our finest low point.” Molly blew out the lamp. “Then let’s dress for daylight robbery.”