Run: 2026-03-18-01KM09S0T6YYV2729QGM796XBW

Molly flattened the party invitation on the kitchen table like it was evidence in a courtroom. The paper was covered in balloons, a grinning lion, and a glittering gold banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TILLY! in letters so cheerful they felt insulting. Bill peered over her shoulder, chewing on a grape from a stolen bowl of fruit. “I still say the lion looks smug.” “It’s a children’s party,” Molly said. “Everything looks smug. Even the napkins.” Bill nodded toward the note on the back. “Saturday. Three o’clock. At the Turner house. Pony rides, magic show, and a mountain of presents.” Molly tapped the page. “Not a mountain. A tempting, unguarded pile of valuables.” “Same thing, really.” She gave him a look. “We are not here for the cake.” “I know that. Though if the cake is good, I reserve the right to be morally flexible.” Molly dragged a pencil across the paper and began sketching the house from memory. “Front garden, side gate, back door, conservatory. The presents will be in the lounge until the opening ceremony, which means they’ll be in one room, unattended, while every adult is distracted by either sugar or small animals.” Bill leaned in. “Do we have a window?” “We have options.” “I like options.” “You like improvising.” “I improvise with style.” “You improvise with noise.” Bill clasped a hand over his heart. “That wound me.” Molly ignored him. “The trick is to blend in.” “With what, exactly? I own one suit and it has a suspicious stain.” “Children’s entertainers.” Bill blinked. “Us?” “Not us. We’re far too shifty. But we can wear bright clothes, carry balloons, and act confident. Nobody questions a man with a balloon sword.” “I’ve always said my strengths were underestimated.” “That’s because they are.” He grinned. “What’s your angle?” “We arrive as hired help. You’re the magician’s assistant.” “I don’t know any magic.” “You know enough. Make one rabbit disappear and the room will be too stunned to ask questions.” “And you?” “I’ll be the balloon artist.” Bill stared. “You can’t make balloon animals.” “I can make balloon shapes. Animals are just shapes with ambition.” “That’s a terrible plan.” “It’s a children’s party. Terrible plans are the local currency.” Bill drummed his fingers on the table. “How do we get the presents out?” Molly folded the invitation and tucked it into her coat. “The wheelie bin.” Bill looked appalled. “You want to steal children’s gifts by putting them in the bin?” “I want to transport them in a receptacle that nobody examines unless they’ve lost a fish supper or a sock.” “That’s cold.” “It’s efficient.” He nodded slowly. “I admire efficiency. Also, it’s a bit funny.” “It’s very funny,” Molly said. “Which is why it will work.” Bill sat back and took another grape. “And the timing?” “When the magician is doing the big finish. Smoke, applause, confusion, someone’s uncle yelling ‘do the bit with the sponge ball.’ That’s when we move.” Bill squinted at her sketch. “You’ve really thought this through.” “I have. Unlike you, I don’t enjoy being chased by toddlers.” “Only because they’re fast.” “They’re tiny lunatics.” “They are relentless,” Bill agreed. He lowered his voice. “Do we have a getaway?” Molly smiled, and it was the smile she wore when a plan had just become criminally elegant. “A florist van.” Bill sat up. “You hired a florist van?” “I borrowed one.” “You borrowed a florist van for a robbery.” “For a theatrical relocation.” He pointed at her. “That was very much a robbery sentence.” Molly stood, rolling the pencil between her fingers. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be gone before anyone notices.” Bill rose too, straightening his jacket. “And if we’re unlucky?” Molly shrugged. “Then we’ll be remembered as the worst clowns in suburbia.” Bill considered that, then laughed. “Molly, I do love a plan with dignity issues.” “Good,” she said. “Because ours has none.” Outside, the streetlights flickered on, and through the curtains the neighborhood looked absurdly peaceful, as if no one had ever imagined a present could vanish before a child had time to scream with joy. Molly gathered the invitation, the sketch, and the keys to the florist van. Bill followed her to the door, still grinning. “Same time tomorrow?” “Sharp.” “And if there’s balloons?” “There will be balloons.” “Perfect,” he said. “Nothing says criminal enterprise like pastel latex and a stolen cake knife.” Molly opened the door and stepped into the night. “Try not to get sentimental, Bill.” He fell in beside her. “No promises. I’m already attached to the cake.”