Run: 2026-07-09-01KX40X4HNFKEN0WB8MCPPR8Q0

“Bill, we need a plan.” “I have a plan, Molly.” “Putting on a paper crown and shouting ‘I’m six!’ is not a plan.” “It got me into the aquarium.” “You were six.” “Details.” Molly peered through the hedge. Balloons bobbed above the garden like brightly colored witnesses. “Twenty children,” she said. “Two parents. One magician.” “Magician?” “Top hat, wand, suspicious eyebrows.” “Professional rival.” “Focus. The presents are under the gazebo.” “We enter disguised as entertainers.” “Doing what?” “Balloon animals.” “You can’t make balloon animals.” “I can make balloon sausages.” “Those are just balloons.” “Minimalist dachshunds.” “And me?” “You’re my glamorous assistant.” “I’m wearing muddy boots and a balaclava.” “Very glamorous in Belgium.” “We need a distraction.” Bill grinned. “Release the rabbit.” “We don’t have a rabbit.” “Borrow the magician’s.” “That requires stealing before stealing.” “A warm-up crime.” “No animals. We infiltrate through the kitchen, hide inside the cake boxes, then crawl to the gazebo.” “Cake boxes are small.” “You said you could fold yourself into a laundry basket.” “I exaggerated for employment purposes.” A child appeared behind them. “Are you the clowns?” “Yes,” said Bill. “No,” said Molly. The child sighed. “Good. The clown canceled. Mum’s panicking.” Bill adjusted his balaclava. “What’s your act called?” Molly smiled. “The Great Present Disappearing Trick.” “Excellent,” said the child. “You’re late.”