Run: 2026-07-09-01KX415QE8HT86ZGJGBBFPP5F8

“You do realize,” Molly whispered, crouched behind the hedge, “that this is the worst thing we’ve ever planned.” Bill adjusted his black wool cap. “Worse than the museum job?” “The museum job involved stealing a hat from a statue.” “It was a very valuable hat.” “It was carved from stone.” “Exactly. Antique stone.” Beyond the hedge, the garden blazed with paper lanterns, balloons, and a banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, OSCAR! Someone inside was playing a trumpet badly enough to suggest either a child or an emergency. Bill peered through the leaves. “Look at all those gifts. Toys, puzzles, perhaps a remote-control helicopter. Children have no appreciation for inventory management.” “They’re presents for a six-year-old.” “Six-year-olds are famously terrible at budgeting.” Molly folded her arms. “Explain the plan again, and this time try not to say ‘we stroll in wearing moustaches.’” “We stroll in wearing—” “No.” “Fine. We blend in.” “We are dressed like burglars.” “We are dressed in practical evening attire.” “You have a grappling hook.” “It’s a reusable shopping bag handle.” “It says GRAPPLING HOOK on it.” “The manufacturer was unusually honest.” A shriek rose from the party, followed by applause. Bill smiled. “They’re distracted.” “They’re playing pass-the-parcel.” “Precisely. A game designed to normalize the movement of suspicious packages.” Molly stared at him. “Bill, I worry about your brain.” “My brain got us the silver candlesticks.” “Your brain got us chased out of a monastery by three nuns with hockey sticks.” “They were very persuasive nuns.” The garden gate creaked open, and a small boy in a pirate hat marched out carrying a plate of cake. He stopped when he saw them. Molly froze. Bill froze. The boy narrowed his eyes. “Are you spies?” “No,” said Molly. “Yes,” said Bill. Molly elbowed him. Bill cleared his throat. “We’re birthday spies.” The boy considered this. “What do birthday spies do?” “Inspect presents for danger,” Bill said. “Dangerous ribbons. Exploding teddy bears. Treacherous socks.” “My aunt gave me socks.” “Then we may already be too late.” The boy looked alarmed. “Come in. There’s loads of presents.” Molly hissed, “We cannot accept an invitation from the target.” “It’s not an invitation,” Bill murmured. “It’s reconnaissance.” “It’s a child with cake.” “Some of history’s most powerful forces have begun as children with cake.” Inside, chaos reigned. A magician was attempting to pull a rabbit from a hat while the rabbit appeared to be winning. Parents chatted near the lemonade. The gift table stood beneath a window, wrapped boxes stacked like a brightly colored fortress. Bill’s eyes gleamed. Molly’s expression hardened. “Don’t.” “I’m only looking.” “You look like a raccoon at a jewellery counter.” A girl wearing fairy wings approached them. “Are you Oscar’s cousins?” “Distant cousins,” Molly said. “Very distant,” Bill added. “Geographically. Emotionally. Possibly legally.” The girl pointed at the gifts. “Oscar says he wants the biggest one first.” “That’s sensible,” Bill said. “Always begin with the largest asset.” Molly grabbed his sleeve. “We’re leaving.” “But the helicopter—” “It could be a lamp.” “Then Oscar deserves the lamp.” The pirate-hat boy tugged Molly’s hand. “Birthday spy, can you check my present?” He held up a tiny box decorated with dinosaurs. Molly looked at Bill. Bill looked at the box. For once, his face lost its usual professional optimism. “What’s in it?” he asked. “It’s for Oscar,” the boy said. “I made him a friendship bracelet.” Bill swallowed. “Highly suspicious.” “Bill.” “Sorry. Emotionally hazardous.” Molly knelt beside the boy. “It’s perfect. Oscar will love it.” The boy beamed. “Can you give it to him?” Bill sighed, took the box with great ceremony, and placed it atop the gift pile. “There,” he said. “Operation Present Theft is complete.” Molly blinked. “We stole nothing.” Bill nodded toward the cake table, where he had somehow acquired three slices. “Not nothing.” “You stole cake?” “Birthday spies require provisions.” Molly took a slice. “Fine. But we’re not taking the balloons.” Bill glanced at the ceiling. “No promises.”