Run: 2026-03-18-01KM090GCSA3TW7DQ3Q58YG6JC

Molly flattened herself against the alley wall and peered around the corner at the house bursting with balloons, streamers, and the kind of cheerful noise that made her teeth hurt. “There,” she whispered. “Birthday party.” Bill adjusted his black gloves with the solemnity of a man preparing for surgery. “I know what it is. I can hear the children. They are shrieking with unearned joy.” “And presents,” Molly said, licking her lips in a way that suggested she had mistaken greed for hunger. “So many presents.” Bill frowned at the rainbow banner over the front door. “You are sure this is ethical?” Molly stared at him. “We are thieves, Bill.” “Yes, but there is a line.” “A line?” Molly said. “We’re standing in an alley at sunset discussing burglary. We crossed the line sometime after breakfast.” He considered that. “Fair.” The front door opened, and a man in a paper crown staggered out carrying a tray of half-melted cupcakes. A chorus of children erupted behind him, followed by a squeal that sounded like a dog being tickled. Bill ducked lower. Molly said, “That’s our cue.” Bill blinked. “Our cue for what?” “To go in.” He looked horrified. “Now? While the humans are still conscious?” “That’s how parties work.” “I assumed they had, I don’t know, a lull. Maybe a dance segment.” Molly snorted. “This is not a gala, Bill. It’s a room full of six-year-olds and sugar.” He swallowed. “I once entered a room full of six-year-olds and sugar. It was a custard factory. I was chased by a spoon.” “That was your own fault for wearing the chocolate hat.” “It was a disguise.” “It was a dessert.” Bill drew a breath, squared his shoulders, and tugged a balloon string from the hedge where they had hidden it earlier. “Remind me again of the plan.” Molly smiled the smile of a woman who had made plans and also, on occasion, made disasters. “I’ll go in as the entertainer. You’ll come in as the catering assistant.” “I am not dressed as a catering assistant.” “You are wearing black trousers and carrying a tray.” “I am carrying a lockpick kit.” “Which, from a distance, looks like a tray.” Bill glanced down at the metal tools. “That is distressingly plausible.” “Then when everyone crowds around the magician or the clown or whichever poor fool is being paid in cake, we slip upstairs, take the presents, and leave before anyone notices the birthday song has ended.” Bill frowned. “You keep saying ‘the magician or the clown’ as if you do not know which one is present.” Molly shrugged. “I like surprises.” He stared at her. “You do realize we are the villains.” “We are professionals,” she said, offended. “There is a difference.” A roar of delighted laughter came from inside, followed by a burst of music from a toy keyboard. Molly peered through the curtain of the front window and saw a mountain of gifts arranged under a paper castle. Boxes. Bags. Ribbons. One package was so large it required its own chair. Bill’s eyes widened. “Oh, my.” Molly’s voice lowered to a reverent murmur. “That’s enough loot to make a man weep.” Bill did, in fact, look misty. “I can see at least three bicycles.” “Not if we’re lucky, you can’t.” He straightened his tie. “All right. We go in. We are calm. We are invisible. We do not scream if a child offers us jelly.” Molly patted his shoulder. “That’s the spirit.” “And if anyone asks?” “You’re Uncle Bill.” “I do not have any nephews.” “You do tonight,” Molly said, and stepped toward the bright open door. “Now smile.” Bill frowned at the sound of children chanting from inside, then forced a grin so unnatural it resembled a hostage note. “How is this?” “Worse than honest,” Molly said. “Perfect. Come on, Uncle Bill. Let’s rob a birthday.”