Run: 2026-07-09-01KX40QBC7JH44WJ9RK1ZB2F8V

Molly crouched behind the hedge, studying the bungalow’s glowing windows. Inside, eight children shrieked around a magician in a purple cape. Balloons bobbed like nervous witnesses. “Tell me again why we’re stealing from children,” Bill whispered. “We’re not stealing from children,” Molly said. “We’re redistributing luxury toys from tiny, sticky monopolists.” “They’re six.” “Exactly. They’ve had enough time to build capital.” Bill peered over the hedge. “I saw a girl carrying a teddy bear with a tiara.” “Probable royalty.” “And the birthday boy has asthma.” “Then he’ll be indoors. Better for everybody.” A party whistle blasted from the garden. Molly checked her watch, which was actually a stolen watch and therefore, in her opinion, highly motivating. “The presents are in the dining room,” she said. “The magician starts the disappearing-rabbit routine in three minutes. Everyone watches the rabbit. We take the loot.” “What if the rabbit doesn’t disappear?” “Then we take the rabbit too.” Bill looked horrified. “Molly, I have standards.” “So did the rabbit, probably, until it got hired by a man called Mystico.” They slipped through the side gate. Bill’s burglar outfit consisted of black trousers, a black jumper, and a paper birthday hat he had found in the gutter. “Why are you wearing that?” Molly asked. “Disguise.” “You look like a depressed traffic cone.” “You said blend in.” “I said blend in with the shadows, not the catering.” From the kitchen came the smell of sausage rolls and the thunderous chant of children demanding cake. Molly opened the back door with a hairpin. Bill stared. “You can pick locks?” “I can pick locks, pockets, and, on a good day, winning horses.” “Can you pick a better life?” “Keep moving.” They crept past a table loaded with fizzy drinks. Bill paused beside a bowl of cheese puffs. “Professional rule,” Molly hissed. “No snacking during the job.” “I’m checking for poison.” “At a children’s party?” “Children are ruthless.” The dining room was piled with wrapped presents: bright paper, enormous bows, little tags written in careful adult handwriting. Molly’s eyes gleamed. “Look at that,” she breathed. “A mountain of consumer regret.” Bill lifted a box shaped like a spaceship. “This one says ‘To Freddie, love Gran.’” “Gran won’t know.” “Gran always knows.” “Bill, put it in the sack.” “What if it’s something sentimental?” “Then it’ll be worth more on the sentimental black market.” “There’s a sentimental black market?” “There is now. Move.” They loaded presents into two pillowcases. A dollhouse vanished. A football vanished. Something that made electronic dinosaur noises vanished, then continued making electronic dinosaur noises from inside Bill’s sack. “Turn it off,” Molly said. “I can’t find the switch.” “Smother it.” “That feels cruel.” “It’s a plastic velociraptor.” “It sounds frightened.” The dining room door opened. A little boy in a pirate costume stood there, clutching a juice box. Bill froze with a scooter balanced on his shoulder. The boy squinted. “Are you party helpers?” Molly smiled brightly. “Yes. We’re the present relocation team.” “Why are you taking my presents?” “Quality control.” “Can I have the dinosaur?” Bill handed it over immediately. Molly glared at him. “What are you doing?” “It belongs to him.” “He hasn’t even opened it.” “He named it.” The boy hugged the dinosaur. “His name is Crunchface.” From the garden, Mystico shouted, “And now, children, prepare to be amazed!” A collective scream erupted. Molly grabbed Bill’s sleeve. “Fine,” she said. “New plan. We leave the presents.” Bill blinked. “Really?” “We take the sausage rolls.” “Now you’re talking.” They fled through the kitchen with a tray between them, pursued by a furious parent, three children, and Crunchface roaring triumphantly from the boy’s arms.