Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0N8W7XBJNXKBV5W38R0TSR

Molly spread a crayon-drawn map across the bonnet of Bill’s van. It showed a garden, a bouncy castle, a table shaped like a pirate ship, and fifty-seven badly drawn parcels beneath a banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY, POPPY! Bill squinted. “Why is the dog labelled ‘Chairman Woof’?” “Because that is his name,” Molly said. “Also because he is in charge of security.” “He’s wearing a party hat.” “Exactly. Confident.” A gust of wind flipped the map. Bill pinned it down with a packet of biscuits. “Right,” Molly said. “We enter as entertainers.” Bill looked down at his striped jumper, flat cap, and suspiciously large sack. “Entertainers?” “Yes.” “What kind?” “Traditional.” “Traditional what?” “Traditional present inspectors.” Bill sighed. “Molly, there is no such thing as a traditional present inspector.” “There is if you say it loudly while holding a clipboard.” From across the street came shrieks of joy, the squeak of balloons, and the heroic strains of a kazoo. Children ran around the lawn in sugar-fuelled circles. Parents hovered with paper plates, all smiling the exhausted smiles of people who had made terrible cake-related promises. Bill watched a little girl carry a parcel wrapped in silver paper. “That one’s got wheels.” “Could be a scooter,” Molly said. “Could be a small barbecue.” “It is a children’s party, Bill.” “Children appreciate sausages.” Molly tapped the map. “We move at cake time. Everyone will face the candles. That gives us twelve seconds.” “To steal all the presents?” “To assess all the presents.” “You said steal.” “I said assess with intent.” Bill folded his arms. “I’m beginning to feel this job lacks dignity.” Molly stared at him. “Last week you got stuck in a cat flap robbing a museum gift shop.” “That was modern art. Nobody understood it.” A balloon drifted over the hedge and landed at their feet. It had a unicorn on it and the words BE KIND in glitter. Bill picked it up. “This is a sign.” “It is a balloon.” “A moral balloon.” “Bill, focus.” “No, listen. We rob banks, jewellers, occasionally dishonest magicians. But children’s presents? That’s low.” Molly opened her mouth, then closed it. She glanced again at the garden. A boy in a dinosaur costume was solemnly feeding crisps to Chairman Woof. Poppy, a small child with missing front teeth, was helping a younger child unwrap a party favor because his fingers were sticky. Molly coughed. “Perhaps we don’t steal all the presents.” “Good.” “Perhaps we steal only the boring ones.” “No.” “The educational ones?” “Molly.” “The recorder sets?” Bill hesitated. “No. Though society would thank us.” Molly rolled up the map. “Fine. New plan. We break into the party and steal nothing.” “That’s just attending.” “We are thieves, Bill. We need a verb.” “We could infiltrate.” “And then?” Bill looked at the biscuit packet on the bonnet. “We could replace their rubbish biscuits with these chocolate ones.” Molly blinked. “A reverse heist?” “A kindness caper.” “That sounds dreadful.” “It sounds marketable.” At that moment, Chairman Woof spotted them. He barked once, trotted through the open gate, and sat in front of Bill, tail wagging, party hat tilted over one eye. Molly whispered, “Security has approached.” Bill offered a biscuit. “We come in peace.” The dog accepted the biscuit and sneezed crumbs onto Bill’s shoes. From the garden, Poppy’s mother called, “Are you the balloon people?” Molly and Bill exchanged a look. Molly straightened her jacket. “Yes,” she called back. “Traditional balloon inspectors.” Bill grabbed the escaped unicorn balloon and followed her through the gate. “Do we know balloons?” Molly smiled. “Bill, we know crime. How hard can helium be?” Twenty minutes later, Molly was making a giraffe that looked like a plumbing accident, Bill was wearing three paper crowns, and every present remained exactly where it belonged. “Best heist ever,” Bill muttered. Molly handed him a slice of cake. “We’ll steal the leftovers.” “No,” Bill said. “Assess them?” Bill took a bite. “With intent.”