Run: 2026-03-18-01KM08SEYHFHT7DAP6PZBWN8H5

Molly and Bill crouched behind the hedge across from number 14, where balloons bobbed above the fence like cheerful sentries and a clown car was presumably a purely decorative threat. Through the front window they could see parents laughing, children shrieking, and a tower of wrapped presents stacked beneath a paper banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY TILLY in glittering purple. Bill adjusted his black cap and squinted. “Too many witnesses,” he muttered. Molly, who had brought a clipboard, a false mustache, and a flute full of orange juice, nodded with professional gravity. “Good. No one suspects the caterers.” A small boy in a superhero mask raced past the curtains with an armful of jelly sweets, nearly ruining Bill’s resolve. “I hate parties,” he said. “Too much joy. It makes me itchy.” Molly checked her watch. “We go in with the cake delivery, blend with the balloons, and exfiltrate via the bouncy castle.” “You really think they’ll buy it?” “They already hired a magician,” she said. “Standards are low.” Inside, the birthday song began, wobbling through the warm air like an injured bird. Bill grinned despite himself. “Right then,” he said, “let’s steal Christmas in miniature.” Molly straightened her tie. “To the presents,” she whispered, “and may the party bags never identify us.”