Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0MY834N96FSY54GYFXQ43G

Molly unfolded the party invitation on the café table like it was a treasure map. It had glitter, a cartoon dragon, and grape jelly on one corner. “Behold,” she whispered. “The target.” Bill leaned over. “That says, ‘Timmy’s Seventh Birthday: Wizards and Waffles.’” “Exactly. Seven-year-olds get the finest loot.” “They get socks with dinosaurs.” “Designer dinosaurs, Bill. Limited edition.” Bill sipped his tea through a licorice straw he’d brought from home. “I don’t like it. Children scream.” “Adults scream too. You once screamed at a self-checkout.” “It accused me of stealing onions.” “You were stealing onions.” “I was negotiating with onions.” Molly tapped the invitation. “The party is at three. Presents on the gift table. We enter, blend in, acquire parcels, exit with dignity.” “Blend in? Molly, we are thirty-eight and forty-two.” “Then we’ll be parents.” Bill straightened. “I am not emotionally prepared to be a parent.” “You only have to look tired and hold a napkin.” “I can do tired.” “You were born tired.” Bill studied the drawing of the dragon. “What about costumes? It says wizards.” “Perfect. Robes hide presents.” “Robes also say, ‘Hello, I am here to do suspicious robe things.’” “That’s why mine will have stars.” Bill frowned. “Stars make crime festive, not invisible.” A waiter passed. Molly smiled until he left, then lowered her voice. “We need code names.” “No.” “Yes. I’ll be Moonblade.” “You’ll be arrested as Moonblade.” “And you?” “Bill.” “Bill is not a code name.” “It has worked so far.” Molly sighed. “Fine. You’re Thunder Crumpet.” “I withdraw from the operation.” “You can’t withdraw. You’re the getaway.” “I don’t drive.” “You own roller skates.” “I own one roller skate. The other is under legal review.” Molly rubbed her temples. “Then we’ll use the bus.” “You want to flee a children’s party by bus, carrying stolen birthday gifts, dressed as wizards?” “Yes.” “That is either genius or a local news segment.” “It’s genius if we sit near the back.” Bill picked up the invitation. “Molly.” “What?” “This party is at the community center.” “So?” “It says, ‘Please bring a wrapped toy for the children’s hospital donation table.’” Molly blinked. “Where?” “Here. In cheerful font. With a smiling bear.” She snatched it back. “That bear is emotionally manipulative.” “The presents aren’t for Timmy. They’re for sick children.” Molly sat very still. Outside, a pigeon stole a chip and looked proud of itself. “So,” Bill said carefully, “we’re not stealing those.” “Obviously we’re not stealing those.” “Good.” “We’re stealing the cake.” “No.” “The balloons?” “No.” “The magician’s dignity?” “Tempting.” Molly folded the invitation. “New plan. We attend as respectable wizards, bring gifts, eat waffles, and case the room for later.” “Later what?” “Later kindness. We’ll steal hearts.” Bill stared at her. “That was awful.” “I know. I felt it curdle as I said it.” “We could bring the onions.” “No child wants onions.” “You haven’t met the right child.” Molly stood, sweeping crumbs into her pocket by habit. “Come on, Thunder Crumpet. We need toys.” “Can I pick a dragon?” “You can pick two dragons.” “And no stealing?” Molly paused at the door. “One party hat.” “Molly.” “Fine. I’ll ask nicely.” Bill smiled. “That’s my Moonblade.” “Say that again and I steal your licorice straw.” “It’s already in my pocket.” “Bill, that’s my pocket.” They looked down. The straw, the invitation, and three sugar packets sat in Molly’s coat. Bill narrowed his eyes. “You’re a menace.” Molly grinned. “A reformed menace. Mostly.”