Run: 2026-03-18-01KM088GF3KHPH01491M99K6DW

Molly crouched behind the florist’s van, eyeing the brightly colored balloons bobbing above the hedge like alarmed jellyfish. Across the street, a banner announced HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TOMMY in letters big enough to be seen from orbit. Bill adjusted his tie, which was really a length of ribbon stolen from a confectionery display, and stared at the house with grim appreciation. “Too many streamers,” Molly whispered. Bill nodded. “That’s how they get you.” The children’s party was in full swing: squeals, music, a clown with suspiciously shiny shoes, and, inside, a mountain of gifts wrapped in paper so cheerful it was practically taunting them. Molly unfolded the tiny blueprint she had drawn on a napkin. “We go in as entertainers,” she said. “You’re the magician.” “I am not a magician.” “You own a hat.” Bill considered this. “I can be a magician.” They slipped through the side gate, smiling like respectable people with deeply unserious intentions. The clown was busy inflating something unfortunate, and the parents were distracted by cake. Molly drifted toward the gift table with the serene confidence of a woman selecting ripe peaches. Bill followed, carrying a basket labeled PARTY SUPPLIES. “Just remember,” Molly murmured, “we take the presents and leave before anyone asks us to sing.” Bill grinned. “That’s the real crime.”