Run: 2026-03-09-01KK9Q7SQ72THQV0VPEBNJRJRZ

Molly crouched behind the hedge outside Number Twelve, studying the riot of balloons, bunting, and sugar-drunk children with the concentration of a jeweler inspecting diamonds. Beside her, Bill wore a caterer’s jacket two sizes too small and a paper hat that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY in letters so cheerful they felt accusatory. He looked less like a master thief than a man being audited by cupcakes. Inside the garden, a clown was losing an argument with a fog machine, the magician had accidentally glued a coin to his forehead, and three exhausted parents drifted past with trays like sailors in rough weather. It was, Molly decided, the sort of pandemonium professionals prayed for. "Bill, charm parents; I'll bag presents. Avoid toddlers. Tiny savages," she whispered. "Right, but if the clown honks twice, I'm leaving immediately." Molly checked the sack, the fake clipboard, and the escape route through the side gate. Bill adjusted his hat with the dignity of a condemned duke. Then they glided toward the gift table, smiling the brittle smiles of people about to commit grand larceny in a blizzard of frosting. Somewhere inside, a child screamed with joy, which Molly considered useful cover and Bill considered an omen.