Run: 2026-07-09-01KX4164586H6QE7YMC4KQEQ8N

Molly crouched behind the hydrangeas, studying the suburban house through opera glasses borrowed from a museum gift shop. Paper bats flapped above the door, balloons clogged the porch, and a banner announced, WELCOME, PRINCE PERCIVAL! “Remind me why the birthday boy is called Prince Percival,” Bill whispered. “Because his parents have money, taste, and an alarming disregard for ordinary syllables,” Molly said. “More importantly, presents are stacked beneath the staircase.” Bill adjusted his bow tie, which was decorated with tiny dancing sausages. He had insisted it made him look festive. Molly thought it made him look like a butcher attending court. “It makes you look like a hot-dog salesman at a funeral,” she said. “Excellent. Nobody suspects the catering industry.” A shriek erupted inside, followed by applause and the unmistakable crash of something wooden. Bill flinched. Molly checked the handwritten floor plan, drawn on the back of a takeaway menu. “The front entrance is guarded by a clown,” she said. “The side door is guarded by a grandmother. The garden gate is guarded by a Labrador.” “Which one has the weakest security?” “The clown. He’s currently trapped in a cupboard.” “That explains the screaming.” They waited until a woman carrying six juice boxes opened the side door. Molly and Bill slipped through behind her, each carrying a cardboard box labeled EMERGENCY BALLOONS. In truth, one box contained rope, wire cutters, and two pastries. A boy in a paper crown blocked the hallway. He examined their boxes with the solemnity of a customs officer. “What’s in there?” he demanded. “Balloons,” Bill said. “Why do they smell like cinnamon?” “Premium balloons,” Molly replied. “They’re filled with festive spice.” The boy considered this, then pointed toward the kitchen. “The magician is making a rabbit disappear.” “Wonderful,” Molly murmured as they moved on. “Professional competition.” The staircase rose beyond a crowd of parents playing musical statues. Every adult stood frozen except one man, who continued dancing because he had misunderstood the rules. Molly stepped between statues while Bill shuffled behind her, accidentally matching the music’s rhythm. “Stop dancing,” she hissed. “I’m not dancing. I’m moving covertly.” “You’re doing jazz hands.” “They’re silent jazz hands.” At the staircase, a balloon animal dropped from the ceiling and landed on Bill’s nose. He staggered backward into a table of jelly. Molly caught his collar, but one foot sank into a wobbling bowl of green dessert. “Keep moving,” she whispered. “I’m trying. The floor has become soup.” They reached the landing and found the presents beneath a glittering banner. Boxes towered like brightly wrapped bricks. Molly produced a canvas sack. Bill produced a tiny notebook. “Inventory,” he said. “We need to know what we’re stealing.” “Everything.” “What if there’s a book?” “Especially everything.” A door creaked behind them. They spun around. Prince Percival stood there, clutching a plastic sword and wearing a cape twice his height. “Are you the present thieves?” he asked. Molly froze. Bill slowly raised one finger. “Technically,” he said, “we’re auditors.” Percival narrowed his eyes. “Auditors don’t wear sausage ties.” “Not successful ones,” Molly admitted. The boy glanced at the sack, then grinned. “You can take the presents, but only if you steal mine first.” “Why?” Molly asked. “Because it’s socks.” Below, the adults cheered as the magician shouted, “Nobody panic!” Molly opened the sack. Bill lifted the sock-shaped package. “Finally,” he said. “A crime with standards.” They hurried downstairs, carrying the loot while Percival marched behind them, beating a drum. At the front door, the Labrador barked, the clown escaped, and Grandma raised a rolling pin. Molly sighed. “Plan B?” Bill handed her the cinnamon pastry. “Bribery,” he said. “The oldest disguise in the book.” The dog accepted it. Grandma accepted two. The clown accepted the entire emergency balloon box. Molly and Bill vanished into the hedge, leaving Prince Percival laughing on the porch, proudly wearing his stolen socks.