Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0N3P3ZTKR0G9RN10TVBAQA

Molly crouched behind the hedge in her black turtleneck, which was unfortunate because the hedge belonged to a house covered in balloons, streamers, and one inflatable unicorn that squeaked whenever the wind touched it. Bill peered over her shoulder. “There it is. The fortress.” “It’s a semi-detached house in Croydon.” “A fortress with bunting.” “Focus, Bill. Twelve children, one magician, two exhausted parents, and a mountain of presents on the dining room table.” Bill nodded gravely. “All wrapped. Unknown contents. Could be watches. Could be jewels.” “Could be socks and plastic dinosaurs.” “Plastic dinosaurs have resale value if you find the right collector.” “You once tried to sell a cracked kazoo as ‘Victorian maritime equipment.’” “It had history.” “It had teeth marks.” From the garden came a shriek of laughter, followed by a man shouting, “Who wants to see Mr. Pickles vanish?” Bill gasped. “They’ve got a hostage?” “That’s the magician’s rabbit.” “Right. I knew that.” Molly unfolded a napkin with a crayon map on it. “The presents are here, between the cake and the patio doors.” Bill squinted. “Why is the kitchen labeled ‘dragon cave’?” “Because I drew this from the invitation. It’s pirate-princess themed.” “Ah. Then we must respect the genre.” “No, we must get in, grab the loot, and get out.” “In costume?” Molly stared at him. “What?” Bill produced two glittering paper crowns from his coat. “Disguise. We enter as entertainers.” “We are not entering a children’s party wearing crowns.” “You’re right. Too obvious.” He pulled out an eye patch. “Pirates.” “Bill.” “Clowns?” “No.” “Balloon sculptors?” “You can’t sculpt balloons.” “I can make a worm.” “That’s not sculpting. That’s failing to tie a knot.” A small boy in a cape appeared on the other side of the hedge, holding a paper plate. He looked at them. They looked at him. “Are you pirates?” he asked. Bill instantly covered one eye. “Arr.” Molly smiled too widely. “We’re, ah, party inspectors.” The boy frowned. “Mum said no more inspectors after the bouncy castle man cried.” “Wise woman,” Bill said. “Are you here for presents?” Molly froze. “Why would you say that?” “Because everyone is. It’s my birthday.” Bill leaned toward Molly. “Target confirmed.” Molly elbowed him. “Happy birthday.” The boy held out the plate. “Want cake?” Bill’s eyes softened. “Is that chocolate?” “With jam.” Molly hissed, “We are professionals.” “We are hungry professionals.” The boy said, “If you’re pirates, you have to come in through the front and say the password.” Molly raised an eyebrow. “Password?” “Please.” Bill blinked. “Diabolical security.” “Impenetrable,” Molly murmured. Inside, the children cheered as the magician shouted, “And now Mr. Pickles returns!” The rabbit hopped onto the dining table, directly beside the presents, then knocked over a stack of parcels like a furry avalanche. Molly watched wrapping paper spill across the floor. “This is chaos.” Bill whispered, “Perfect cover.” A little girl screamed, “Present mountain!” Twelve children stampeded toward the table. Bill winced. “Less perfect.” Molly folded the crayon map. “New plan.” “We retreat?” “We eat cake.” “And the presents?” Molly watched a child unwrap a remote-control tarantula and immediately drive it up the magician’s trouser leg. “The presents can fend for themselves.” Bill nodded as Mr. Pickles leapt into the punch bowl. “Best security system I’ve ever seen.” The birthday boy pointed toward the gate. “Password!” Molly sighed. “Please.” He opened it solemnly. “Welcome aboard.” Bill straightened his paper crown. “Arr, Molly.” “Not a word.” “Just one?” “No.” “Cake?” Molly smiled. “Cake.”