Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09HEAAN90D3ZTKM0Z1GW7B

“Molly,” Bill whispered, squinting at the cheerful banner that read WELCOME TO PEPPA’S PARTY!, “why does it smell like frosting and impending doom?” “It’s the universe telling us we’re about to do a crime,” Molly said, grinning like a raccoon who’d learned manners. “Also, it’s caramel. Someone’s mother is aggressive about caramel.” Bill adjusted his cap. “I brought the disguises.” “You brought a janitor’s uniform.” “It’s gender-neutral,” Bill insisted. “That’s not what gender-neutral means, Bill. That’s what ‘someone stole it from a school supply closet’ means.” Bill lowered his voice further. “Disguises can be… improvisational.” Molly leaned closer to the front window. Through the glass, children were squealing at a bounce house like it was a magical animal that had opinions. “This is for the greater good,” Molly said solemnly. “The greater good of… unboxing,” Bill said. “The greater good of reducing clutter,” Molly corrected. “We’re doing Marie Kondo-level charity. We save them from the shame of too many presents.” Bill stared. “That is a scam. Like a tax scam, but with toys.” “Shh,” Molly said. “Listen.” From inside came the muffled sound of a plastic drum being hit repeatedly. Then a voice, cheerful and oblivious: “Okay, everybody, stop bouncing and line up for presents!” Bill’s eyes widened. “They’re about to line up for presents.” Molly nodded. “Perfect.” Bill pointed at his own chest. “Where do I go? Do we have roles? I can be… the distracting danger.” “You can be Bill,” Molly said. “You’re already distracting.” Bill gasped. “Rude.” Molly reached into her bag and produced two identical paper crowns. “We wear these.” Bill blinked. “Crowns? We’re not even—” “They’ll think we’re party royalty,” Molly said. “We’ll blend in.” Bill took a crown carefully, like it might bite. “What if someone asks what we’re doing here?” Molly lifted her chin. “Then we’ll say we’re… the Present Inspectors.” Bill nodded slowly. “That’s believable. Children love inspectors. They inspect cookies. They inspect bubbles. They inspect—” “Don’t finish that,” Molly warned. Bill grinned. “All right. Present Inspectors. I can do that. I’m basically a connoisseur of wrapping.” Molly gestured toward the driveway. “Their car is leaving in three minutes.” Bill checked a phone he definitely didn’t have permission to own. “How do you know?” “I’m talented,” Molly said. “And I may have watched a few neighborhood Instagram stories. Don’t judge.” Bill clutched his crown. “My only knowledge of children’s parties comes from commercials and the time my cousin made me attend one. There was a magician.” “And the magician did what?” Molly asked. “He disappeared a rabbit and then reappeared with a tip jar,” Bill said. “So I assume this is how you’ll vanish with the loot. Like a rabbit but uglier.” Molly rolled her eyes. “I’m not uglier. I’m… artistically chaotic.” Bill leaned closer. “You’re stalling.” “I’m building suspense,” Molly corrected. “Heists need vibes.” Inside, the children began chanting something rhythmic—probably a song about balloons. Bill winced. “They’re louder than a marching band that got lost on the way to kindergarten.” “Good,” Molly said. “Noise is cover.” Bill looked around the yard. “Is this… illegal cover?” Molly’s smile sharpened. “All cover is illegal if you’re doing crime, Bill.” Bill swallowed. “So we’re doing crime.” “Yes,” Molly said. “Okay,” Bill said, steadying himself. “What’s the plan?” Molly spread her hands like she was presenting a cooking show. “We walk in confidently, we compliment the decorations, we locate the presents, and then we leave before anyone realizes that ‘Present Inspectors’ were not, in fact, a job.” Bill frowned. “That last part sounds important.” “It’s the only part you’ll remember,” Molly said. Bill adjusted his crown again. “And stealing all the presents—like all of them? Every single one?” Molly pointed at the pile through the window. “Those are too many presents. That’s suspicious. That’s a present mountain. Someone built a present fortress.” Bill’s eyes followed her finger. “A fortress needs to be breached.” “We are not breaching,” Molly said quickly. Bill blinked. “We’re… inspecting.” “Exactly,” Molly said, delighted. “We’re inspecting so intensely that the presents… accidentally… migrate into our bags.” Bill stared at her. “That sounds like science.” “It’s heist science,” Molly replied. “Now hush. The doorbell is about to ring.” Bill raised his eyebrows. “Who’s ringing it?” Molly checked the reflection in the window. “Us.” Bill inhaled. “Okay. Molly.” “Bill.” “Promise me we won’t be mean.” Molly’s face softened for half a second. “We’re not mean. We’re educational. We’re teaching them the life lesson that you can’t own everything.” Bill nodded, accepting the logic as one accepts a duck wearing sunglasses. “All right. We can do this. Present Inspectors.” Molly reached for the door and whispered, “On three.” Bill whispered back, “One.” Molly corrected, “Two.” Bill whispered, “I’m counting. That’s not my fault.” Molly smiled. “Fine. Three.” They opened the door together, wearing crowns like queens of questionable ethics, and stepped into a world of squeals, balloons, and the smell of caramel—where Molly said, brightly, “Hello! We’re here to inspect the presents for… quality.”