Run: 2026-07-09-01KX40ZP0K5RZQ1S3CNZQ44KV3

Molly crouched behind the hedge outside the Wobbleton Community Hall, studying the windows through binoculars shaped like two surprised frogs. Inside, thirty children in paper crowns stamped around a long table while a magician pulled scarves from his sleeve with the desperate rhythm of a man trying to distract everyone from the fire alarm. Bill adjusted his black ski mask, which had rabbit ears sewn onto it. “Remind me why we’re robbing a party for seven-year-olds instead of, say, the mayor’s house?” “Because the mayor has security cameras, a Doberman, and a wife who throws javelins competitively.” “And these children have?” “Cupcakes, sugar crashes, and presents piled beneath a cardboard volcano. It’s the perfect storm.” Bill peered through the hedge. “There’s a clown by the door.” “That’s not a clown. That’s the birthday boy’s uncle, Trevor.” “He’s wearing orange trousers, a purple wig, and a badge that says Captain Giggles.” “Trevor makes poor choices. That doesn’t make him a clown.” “It certainly gives him a head start.” Molly unfolded the party schedule she had stolen from a recycling bin. It was decorated with dinosaurs wearing party hats and smelled faintly of fruit punch. “At three fifteen, the magician performs the Great Cabinet Escape. At three sixteen, every child is invited to shout ‘abracadabra’ directly into the cabinet. At three seventeen, we enter through the kitchen, take the presents, and leave through the fire exit.” Bill frowned. “What if the children see us?” “They won’t. We’ll be disguised.” “As what?” Molly opened a duffel bag. Inside were two glittery silver capes, a cardboard moon, and a pair of antennae topped with foam stars. Bill stared. “We’re going as space fairies?” “We’re going as entertainers from the Galactic Fun Zone.” “I thought we were thieves.” “Tonight, Bill, we are thieves with excellent branding.” A roar came from inside as the magician apparently produced a live pigeon from someone’s sandwich. Molly slipped on her cape and tied the cardboard moon around her waist. Bill reluctantly pulled on the antennae. “I look ridiculous.” “You look magical.” “I look like a lamppost lost a bet.” “Good. Children trust ridiculous adults. It’s why dentists have fish tanks.” They hurried around the side of the hall. The kitchen door stood propped open with a sack of potatoes. From within came the clatter of plates and the furious humming of someone who had been asked to make thirty tiny sandwiches shaped like rockets. Bill paused at the threshold. “One more thing. What exactly are we doing with all these presents?” Molly smiled. “Selling them.” “To whom?” “Parents. Tomorrow morning. Half price.” Bill considered this. “That’s appalling.” “Thank you.” “No, I mean it’s brilliant. We should take the wrapping paper too.” Molly’s eyes gleamed. “Now you’re thinking like a professional.” Inside, the magician shouted, “Who wants to help me disappear?” Thirty children screamed, “TREVOR!” Bill grabbed the duffel bag. “On three?” Molly pushed open the kitchen door. “On abracadabra.”