Run: 2026-03-09-01KK9QBE74WTBCNAR9N6YHPVF7

Outside the church hall, balloons bobbed like surveillance blimps while a rented clown wrestled a folding sign that read HAPPY SEVENTH, OLIVER. Molly crouched behind the hedge, notebook open, wearing a caterer’s apron over burglar black. Bill balanced beside her with a coil of ribbon, a fake moustache, and the solemn expression of a man about to betray every child in Hampshire. Through the steamed windows came shrieks, party whistles, and the thump of a hired magician bombing spectacularly. On the gift table inside, parcels glittered in a mound of bright paper, each bow winking like an alarm begging ignored tonight. “Molly, this feels morally sticky.” “Bill, they’re children; they’ll forget by Tuesday.” “They remember ponies forever.” “Focus. We enter as entertainers, dazzle the adults, lift the loot, vanish before cake.” “I can juggle oranges, not suspicion.” “Then juggle both.” “What if the birthday boy cries?” “We leave him the batteries.” “That’s monstrous.” “That’s thoughtful.” “I hate that you make crime sound organized.” “I hate that you make panic sound musical.” “Fine. What’s my role?” “You’re Professor Sprinkles, balloon animal savant.” “And you?” “Captain Cupcake, widow, mysterious, excellent with knots.” “Why widow?” “Respectability.” “Right. Pillage, then politeness.” “Exactly. Smile big, steal bigger.”