Run: 2026-09-03-01M1KRPT5AR6XK032NZPH9VZPS

The rain had turned the cul-de-sac into a slick mirror and the Hendersons’ inflatable castle pulsed pink in the backyard like a giant, overexcited marshmallow. Molly crouched under the hedge with a clipboard and a look of professional concern, while Bill sat on an overturned recycling bin pretending to read a flyer for lost cats. The target was seven-year-old Timmy’s birthday, a suburban nightmare of plastic streamers, a bouncy house, and a table sagging under presents wrapped in enough glitter to blind a small animal. The plan was simple, which was Molly’s favorite kind of complicated. Molly tapped the window with a pen. “You see the parents inside? They’re doing the wine.” Bill peered over the fence at two adults laughing too loudly by the grill. “Mmm-hmm. And the kids are inside the castle, so the perimeter is basically screaming children.” “Perfect,” Molly whispered. “Screaming is excellent cover.” Bill adjusted his neon yellow raincoat, the one he wore for visibility and shame. “We are not actually stealing from children, are we? That’s a line.” “We’re stealing from parents who bought the wrong toys,” Molly said. “It’s a public service.” She unfolded a crayon-drawn map of the backyard that Timmy’s little sister had posted on the community board. X marked the present table, just three feet from the sliding glass door. The door was propped open for airflow, a detail Molly had been praying for. Bill checked his watch, which was broken but gave a comforting tick. “Thirty minutes until cake. That’s when the parents get distracted and the kids get sticky.” Molly nodded, sliding a pair of oversized bunny ears onto her head. “Disguise check. I look like a lost mascot.” “You look like a tax audit,” Bill said. “Good.” They slipped over the fence just as a chorus of plastic squeakers erupted from the castle. The backyard smelled of hot dogs and cheap sunscreen. The present table was a mountain of boxes, some the size of small refrigerators. A banner read HAPPY BIRTHDAY TIMMY in crooked blue letters. Molly’s eyes widened. “There’s a drone,” she hissed. Bill squinted at the toy helicopter hovering over the grass, blinking red. “It’s just Timmy’s. He thinks it’s a security system.” “Children are terrifying,” Molly muttered, and began to stack the smaller presents into a laundry bag. A toddler in a dinosaur costume toddled over and stared at them. Bill froze, then offered a solemn thumbs up. The toddler clapped. Molly tried to look nonchalant and knocked over a stack of gift bags. Paper exploded everywhere. “Sorry!” she called in her best mascot voice. “Bunny knocked them over! Bunny needs help!” A teenage babysitter appeared, sighed, and started picking up the mess. Bill seized the moment and lifted a particularly large box marked with a lightsaber. It was heavier than expected. “This is the one,” he whispered. “It’s probably a trampoline.” Molly was already halfway to the fence with a bag that jingled with board games. “We need the big red one,” she said. “That’s the console.” Bill grunted, dragging it. The sliding door banged shut as a gust of wind hit the house. They both froze. Inside, a mother shouted for more ice. The chaos returned. Molly tugged him forward. “Go, go, go. If we get caught, we tell them we’re doing a surprise re-gifting.” “That’s actually worse,” Bill said, sprinting. They cleared the hedge just as the castle deflated with a sad wheeze. Behind them, Timmy screamed with delight, completely unaware that his presents were now halfway to the car. Molly looked at the bags and laughed. “We’re terrible people.” “We’re employed people,” Bill corrected, and they vanished into the rain.