Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0N4T6H1KKETMK53AKHWDSF

Molly crouched behind the hedge with a pair of opera glasses, a clipboard, and the grave expression of a general about to invade a nation made entirely of frosting. Across the street, the Maple Avenue Community Hall glowed with balloons, streamers, and the shrieking joy of twenty-seven children attending Daisy Pritchard’s seventh birthday party. Bill lay beside her in a caterpillar costume. “I still don’t see why I’m the caterpillar,” he whispered. “Because you fit in it,” Molly said. “I fit in lots of things. I fit in a trench coat. I fit in a taxi once.” “You got stuck in that taxi.” “Temporarily.” Molly lowered the opera glasses. “Focus. The presents are on the folding table beside the puppet stage. Pink wrapping paper, blue ribbons, suspiciously large dinosaur box. Our objective is to remove every gift without upsetting the children.” Bill’s antennae drooped. “That last bit feels optimistic.” “It’s a party. Chaos is camouflage.” Inside, a magician pulled a scarf from his sleeve, then another, then something that looked like a sock. The children applauded anyway. Parents clustered near the urn of tea, wearing the haunted smiles of people who had heard “Baby Shark” too many times. Bill scratched his foam belly. “What’s the entrance plan?” “We enter as entertainers.” “You said we were thieves.” “Today we diversify.” A minivan pulled up, and a woman emerged carrying a cake shaped like a unicorn. Molly checked her clipboard. “That’s our window. Cake arrival means adult attention collapse.” Bill peered over the hedge. “What if someone asks us to perform?” Molly smiled. “Then you wiggle.” “I beg your pardon?” “You’re a caterpillar. Commit to the character.” They crossed the street at a jaunty, criminally innocent pace. Molly wore a glittery waistcoat, a bowler hat, and a name tag reading Professor Pickle. Bill waddled behind her, green segments bobbing. At the door, a tired father blinked at them. “You’re with the entertainment company?” “Absolutely,” Molly said brightly. Bill gave a small wave. “I do metamorphosis.” The father stared. “Eventually,” Bill added. They were waved inside. The hall smelled of jam, sugar, and emotional blackmail. Molly swept her gaze over the room. Presents: twelve feet away. Children: everywhere. Puppet stage: unattended. Exit: blocked by a grandmother with a handbag large enough to contain a canoe. “Phase one,” Molly murmured. “Distraction.” Bill shuffled into the middle of the room. A child pointed. “Caterpillar!” The room turned. Bill froze. “Do something,” Molly hissed. Bill panicked and began rolling slowly across the floor. The children screamed with delight. Three joined him. One climbed onto his back shouting, “Onward, bug horse!” Molly used the commotion to sidle toward the present table, producing a collapsible sack from her waistcoat. She lifted the first parcel, shook it gently, and frowned. Too soft. Socks, perhaps. Morally acceptable to steal, but not thrilling. A girl with pigtails appeared beside her. “Are you helping Daisy?” Molly straightened. “In a sense.” “With presents?” “With logistics.” “My mum says logistics is what happens when Daddy forgets plates.” “Your mum is wise.” Across the room, Bill rolled into a stack of paper cups. They flew like festive artillery. Parents laughed, children roared, the magician looked professionally wounded. Molly began stacking presents into the sack. Dinosaur box. Doll house. Something rectangular and promising. She had almost cleared the table when the birthday girl herself appeared, wearing a crown and an icing moustache. “Are you stealing my presents?” Daisy asked. Molly paused with a parcel under one arm. There were difficult questions in every profession. This, Molly felt, was among them. “Borrowing,” she said. Daisy narrowed her eyes. “For how long?” Molly glanced at Bill, who was now trapped beneath six children and chanting, “Please respect the thorax.” “Not long,” Molly said weakly. Daisy folded her arms. “I wanted the dinosaur.” Molly looked at the large box in her sack. A cartoon tyrannosaurus grinned up at her with plastic innocence. Bill’s voice drifted over. “Molly, I’m molting emotionally!” Molly sighed. The room sparkled with balloons and crumbs and the absolute faith of children who believed every wrapped box held a miracle. She removed the dinosaur box from the sack and placed it back on the table. Then she put back the doll house. Then the suspicious rectangle. Daisy watched, stern as a tiny magistrate. “Good choice,” she said. Molly cleared her throat. “Professional courtesy.” At that moment, Bill burst free and staggered over, covered in stickers. “Are we rich?” “No,” Molly said. “We’re reformed for the next ten minutes.” Daisy handed Bill a party horn. “You can stay if you do another roll.” Bill looked at Molly. Molly looked at the presents. Then she picked up a paper hat and placed it on her bowler. “Fine. But after cake, we discuss appearance fees.” Bill saluted with one antenna. “Onward, bug horse.”