Run: 2026-09-01-01M1EKRF47GNP0Q08760D5TJSE

Molly leaned against the damp alley wall behind the Henderson residence, adjusting her black turtleneck and trying to ignore the birthday banner that fluttered above the fence like a warning flag in a movie about doomed teenagers. The air smelled of hot dogs, regret, and slightly scorched frosting that seemed to creep from the open kitchen window like an invitation she was trying to refuse. She checked her watch, then her outfit: a glittery tutu strapped over a black tactical suit, because Bill had insisted that the best disguise for a children's party was to look like the birthday girl who had lost her mind in a very fashionable way, preferably with a scowl that suggested she had already received every gift she wanted and found them lacking. She pulled a hairpin from her bun and surveyed the patio where a folding table sagged under an empire of wrapped boxes, bows, and one suspiciously large gift bag labeled DO NOT OPEN in glitter that seemed to mock her entire career and her choice of footwear. Bill adjusted his red latex overalls and checked his clipboard, which was actually a pizza box folded to look official, complete with a grease stain that served as a security emblem and a handwritten note that said MANAGER in block letters. He smiled with dangerous confidence, the kind of expression that had once convinced a museum guard he was a delivery driver for a company that did not exist. "Positive," he said, tapping the box with a gloved finger that smelled of cheap cologne and ambition. "The presents are high-value. Tiny robots, unassembled scooters, a glitter cannon that could fund a retirement. We are not here for juice." Molly sighed, pulling the hairpin behind her ear with a precision born from a dozen previous heists involving museums and one unfortunate florist who had never recovered from seeing Bill in a tutu during a rainstorm. "Bill, are you sure about this?" she asked, her voice tight with the kind of doubt that had made her a successful thief for twelve years but also made her want to hide inside a potted fern until the singing stopped. Bill nodded toward the patio door, where a single pink balloon bobbed in the wind like a lonely satellite guiding ships to destruction. "The gift table is near the patio door, unguarded except for a seven-year-old with a juice box." He stepped closer to examine the window latch with a tool that was definitely not legal in several countries and possibly not legal in this one, his overalls making a sound like a slow balloon deflating. "It's a children's party," Molly said, her hands trembling slightly as she pulled the tutu tighter against her suit, which made her look like a ballerina who had been told to steal something. "There's juice boxes. There's a clown with a red nose and a sad trumpet. There's a cake with candles that could set off a smoke detector and ruin everything including our dignity." "The clown is a liability, but the loot is legacy. We need the presents," Bill said, not breaking stride as he tested the latch with a gentle pressure that seemed more like a handshake than a crime. Molly tugged her tutu, which made a sound like wet paper being attacked by wind and regret. "I'm dressed as the birthday girl. You look like a balloon that has given up on life and joined a church." "I am a balloon," Bill said, adjusting his red latex overalls and checking the pocket where he kept a glitter grenade that could blind a room for thirty seconds and erase the memory of small children. "I am the silent partner. You distract them with your tutu." Molly looked at the house, where a banner read Happy Birthday Kyle in glitter letters that seemed to judge her life choices and her haircut. She glanced at the kitchen window, where a small face appeared holding a juice box with unmistakable suspicion, wearing a crown made of construction paper and authority. "We enter during the balloon drop," Bill continued, stepping back to survey the alley where a cat watched them with the disinterest of a seasoned detective. "The noise covers our footsteps. I slip through the kitchen, disable the security, and we move quickly." "The cake alarm?" Molly interrupted, her eyes widening as if she had just realized the party was also a trap. "Standard security," Bill said firmly, producing a small mirror to check behind him. "Then I lift the presents. We split the weight because I have a back that hates lifting and you have an ego that demands it. We vanish before the piñata." Molly nodded slowly, the hairpin glinting in her hand like a small silver lie. "One robot. No juice." "No juice," Bill agreed, pulling a black beanie over his balloon costume so he looked like an alien who had fallen in love with a party and decided to stay for dessert. "We go at eight. The presents await, and so does our slightly illegal retirement."