Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ0NAKBZ30C6JN1Z9XX4J7FD

Molly spread the crayon map across the bonnet of the stolen ice-cream van, weighting the corners with a rubber chicken, a half-eaten pasty, and Bill’s left shoe. The map smelled faintly of wax and panic. Bill peered at it upside down. “Why is the conservatory labelled Volcano?” “Because the birthday boy drew it,” Molly said. “And because last year his grandmother set fire to the curtains with a sparkler.” “Good intelligence,” Bill said solemnly. “We’re professionals.” Molly tapped the largest square. “Here’s the sitting room. That’s where the presents will be piled. Bright paper, ribbons, suspiciously rectangular boxes. Our target is everything.” Bill’s eyes gleamed. “All the presents.” “All the presents,” Molly confirmed. He rubbed his hands together, then stopped. “Even the educational ones?” “Especially the educational ones. Nobody expects thieves to take a junior chemistry set.” Bill considered this. “I once had a chemistry set.” “You blew up a kettle.” “It learned something.” Inside the house across the road, balloons bobbed in the windows like cheerful surveillance devices. A banner read HAPPY 7TH BIRTHDAY, ARCHIE! In the garden, a man dressed as a pirate was being chased by twelve children with foam swords and the focused cruelty of sugar. Molly lowered her binoculars. “Security is heavier than expected.” Bill squinted. “Tiny guards.” “Armed.” “With sausages on sticks,” Bill said, impressed. “Savages.” Molly produced a clipboard from her coat, which contained so many hidden pockets it had once been mistaken for luggage. “Phase one: disguise. We enter as entertainers.” Bill brightened. “I can juggle.” “You can drop three oranges in different directions.” “That’s called suspense.” “You’re going as Professor Wobble, balloon scientist.” Bill frowned. “Is that a real thing?” “It is if you say it confidently and wear goggles.” He nodded. “And you?” “Mystic Molly, fortune teller.” She placed a sequined scarf over her head. “I shall predict that everyone must go outside immediately to witness a rare cloud shaped like a dinosaur.” Bill looked up. The sky was aggressively blank. “What if there isn’t one?” “There will be once you release the inflatable tyrannosaurus from the van.” Bill glanced behind him at the lumpy tarpaulin. “I wondered why it was breathing.” “It’s not breathing. That’s the fan.” “Right. Less terrifying.” A shriek of laughter burst from the house. Bill flinched and clutched the clipboard. Molly gave him a hard look. “Remember, Bill: in and out. No cake.” “No cake,” he repeated, unconvincingly. “No party bags.” “No party bags.” “No adopting a rabbit from the petting corner.” Bill stiffened. “There’s a rabbit?” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “There may be. That’s why I mentioned it.” He stared wistfully toward the garden. “A criminal mastermind needs a mascot.” “A criminal mastermind needs to fit through doorways without carrying livestock.” Bill sighed. “Fine.” Molly rolled the map into a tube and tucked it under her arm. “Once the children are distracted, we gather the presents into the laundry hamper, wheel it through the hall, and depart with dignity.” Bill raised a finger. “What if Archie cries?” Molly paused. The balloons bobbed. The pirate fell into a paddling pool. Somewhere, a child shouted that his cupcake had looked at him funny. “We are thieves,” Molly said. “Of course.” “Hardened thieves.” “Naturally.” “With standards.” Bill nodded slowly. “So we leave him one?” Molly looked at the pile visible through the window: glittering, wobbling, excessive. “We leave him the biggest one. Children respect scale.” Bill smiled. “And the chemistry set?” Molly smiled back. “That’s coming with us. Kettles everywhere have grown complacent.”