Run: 2026-03-18-01KM0ADCETY9CQNG7JWZYMSXSD

Molly crouched behind the bakery’s dumpster, staring at the glowing rental hall across the street. Paper stars dangled in the windows. A hand-painted banner read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TILLY! in letters so cheerful they looked suspicious. Bill peered over her shoulder and winced. “That is a lot of balloons.” “And?” Molly said. “And children,” Bill said. Molly adjusted her black gloves. “We are not stealing the children.” “I know that,” Bill said. “I’m saying children are loud. They announce things. ‘Why is that lady carrying a sack of mystery into the parking lot?’ That sort of thing.” Molly gave him a look. “We are professionals.” Bill snorted. “We are people in borrowed turtlenecks.” “We are professionals in borrowed turtlenecks.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if the balloons might have been listening. “Remind me again why this party?” “Because,” Molly said, “children’s parties are chaos wrapped in streamers. Parents are distracted, cake is everywhere, and every gift bag becomes a temporary blind spot.” Bill frowned. “You know, when you said ‘gift bags become a temporary blind spot,’ I hoped you meant for us, not for me physically.” Molly pointed at the side door of the hall. “The presents will be stacked near the stage while everyone sings. The entertainer is a pirate.” Bill blinked. “A real pirate?” “A man in a vest with a rubber parrot.” “That’s still a pirate where I come from.” “Good. He’ll be busy shouting ‘Arrr’ and failing to make balloon swords.” Bill scratched his chin. “And the security?” Molly laughed softly. “Bill, this is a six-year-old’s birthday party. The security is a woman named Denise with a folding chair and an anxiety bracelet.” “That’s comforting,” Bill said. “I’d like to meet Denise before she meets me.” “You won’t. You’ll be in the hallway by the craft table, under the pretense of being a balloon handler.” Bill looked down at the neon vest she’d produced from her bag. “This vest makes me look like I supervise inflatable fish at an aquarium.” “Exactly. Trust the vest.” He held it up. “I hate that I’m asking this, but what are the odds the presents are labeled?” “High,” Molly said. “Lower left corner of each box, probably with the child’s name in glitter marker.” Bill groaned. “You want me to steal gifts intended for a specific child.” “We’re temporarily reallocating them.” “That’s stealing.” “That’s why it’s lucrative.” He considered the hall. Through the window, a dozen children jumped under a banner of confetti. One kid wore a cape. Another had already started licking frosting off a napkin. Bill sighed. “Fine. But if anyone asks, I’m here for balloon logistics.” Molly smiled. “There you go. Confidence.” “And if I get caught?” “You won’t.” “And if I do?” “You’ll say you’re Uncle Bill.” “I don’t have an Uncle Bill voice.” “Use the one you use when you’re blaming the toaster.” He rubbed his hands together, already nervous. “All right. We go in during the singing, switch the present bags into the laundry carts, and exit through the kitchen?” “The kitchen is for panicked caterers,” Molly said. “We go out the side gate by the recycling bins.” Bill squinted at her. “You planned this very specifically.” Molly drew a tiny sketch from her pocket and unfolded it. “I also brought wheelie bins.” Bill stared. “You brought wheelie bins.” “I rented them.” “That’s worse.” “Bill,” she said, with the patience of a saint and the grin of a burglar, “if we are going to ruin a child’s afternoon, let us at least do it efficiently.” From inside the hall came a roar of delighted singing, followed by the thump of a dropped cake tray and a man yelling, “I am the captain now!” Bill winced. “All right,” he said. “That might be our window.” Molly straightened, tugged her hood up, and picked up a clipboard she had absolutely not earned. “Ready?” He put on the neon vest and squared his shoulders. “No.” “Excellent,” Molly said. “Then no one will suspect a thing.”