Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1J7198S9YXAAT1DMJWJV5Y

Molly flattened the blueprint of the bungalow on a sticky café table, pinning one corner with a spoon and the other with Bill’s trembling hand. Outside, balloons bobbed over the garden wall like cheerful surveillance devices. “Children’s parties are chaos with frosting,” Molly said. “Perfect cover.” Bill peered at the sketch. “I still say we’ll be undone by a clown.” “The clown is my alibi.” “Your alibi rides a unicycle?” “And makes balloon poodles. Focus. Presents stacked by the fireplace, cake at two, screaming at two-oh-one.” Bill adjusted his cap. “What about the parents?” “Distracted by dietary requirements and passive-aggressive praise.” He nodded gravely. “Savage.” From the wall came a burst of tinny music and the shriek of delight that always sounded, to Bill, a little like an air-raid siren. “We go in with the magician,” Molly said. “You carry the prop trunk.” “I hate prop trunks. They always smell of doves and disappointment.” “Then think of loot. Board games, drones, that suspiciously expensive dollhouse.” Bill’s eyes brightened. “Right. In, swipe, out.” “No greed,” Molly warned. “If it squeaks, sings, or requires batteries the size of soup cans, leave it.” “And if a child spots us?” Molly folded the blueprint with priestly calm. “Smile kindly,” she said. “Then ask where the good presents are.”