Run: 2026-03-18-01KM08SXPKC2A5KGVN9K97PN3T

“Tell me again why we’re robbing a children’s party,” Bill whispered, peering through the alley like the cake might arrest him. “Because, Bill,” Molly said, tightening the black glove on her left hand, “the target is low-security, high-density, and emotionally reckless.” “You said that like a banker.” “I’m a professional.” “That’s not what professionals do.” “Depends on the profession.” Bill shifted the duffel bag on his shoulder. “This bag has no moral qualifications.” “Neither do you.” “That’s harsh.” “It’s accurate.” A burst of tinny music and shrieking laughter floated from the house at the end of the street. A banner over the porch read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LIAM, in letters so enormous they looked legally binding. Bill squinted. “Are we sure about this? They’re children.” “Of course they’re children. That’s the point.” “The point of theft?” “The point of opportunity. Parents are distracted, cake is everywhere, and every present in there is practically begging to be liberated.” Bill frowned. “I don’t like the word liberated when it’s attached to a toy tractor.” “Then call it acquiring.” “Still sounds bad.” “Bill, do you want to retire rich or morally hydrated?” “I’d like one of those to feel less criminal.” Molly leaned closer to the hedge. “Listen carefully. We go in through the back gate. You flash the clipboards.” “The clipboards?” “Yes. The fake delivery clipboards.” “You made me carry four clipboards.” “Redundancy builds confidence.” “It also builds back pain.” “Inside, you smile.” “I hate smiling.” “You’re excellent at it when you’re lying.” “That’s insulting.” “It’s training.” Bill peeked again at the house. “There’s a clown.” “Excellent.” “Why is that excellent?” “Because clowns are either a distraction or a warning. Either way, useful.” “It’s eating a sausage roll.” “Then it’s a distraction.” “I don’t think the clown is supposed to be here.” “No one is supposed to be here, Bill. That’s what makes parties fun.” Bill stared at her. “You say things like a villain in a children’s cartoon.” “And yet, you’re still here.” He sighed. “All right. Remind me of the plan one more time, but simpler.” “Fine. We enter. You pretend to be from the Balloon Compliance Office.” “There’s no Balloon Compliance Office.” “Exactly. No one challenges authority they don’t understand.” “And then?” “And then we mingle. You ask where the presents are stored.” “Won’t that seem suspicious?” “With your face? Only if you’re telling the truth.” “Lovely.” “I’ll create a diversion.” “What kind?” “I’ll release the confetti cannon.” Bill blinked. “You brought a confetti cannon?” “I also brought smoke bombs, a spare bib, and a battery-operated penguin.” “Why the penguin?” Molly grinned. “For chaos.” “That’s not a reason.” “It is in my line of work.” The front door opened, and a parent in a paper crown stepped out carrying a tray of mini quiches. “Can I help you two?” Bill froze. “Uh.” Molly straightened instantly into the posture of a woman who had never committed a misdemeanor in her life. “Evening. We’re from the Balloon Compliance Office.” The parent narrowed their eyes. “The what?” Bill whispered, “I hate this already.” Molly smiled wider. “We’ve had a report of unsafe helium levels.” The parent looked from Molly to Bill, then to the duffel bag, then back to Molly. “That’s not a thing.” Molly nodded solemnly. “Exactly. Which is why we’re here.” Bill muttered, “She’s good.” “Thank you,” Molly said. The parent crossed their arms. “You’re not here for the presents, are you?” Molly paused just long enough to make Bill flinch. “Of course not,” she said. “We’re here for the cake.” Bill groaned. “That is somehow worse.” “Bill,” Molly said, adjusting the clipboards, “if we’re going to be caught, let’s at least be caught with frosting.”