Run: 2026-09-23-01M36NXYJ8FY13TG675775KRGS

Molly studied the house from behind a hedge shaped like a lumpy green sheep. Inside, children shrieked with the uninhibited joy of people who had never paid a utility bill. A banner over the front window read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, THEO! Beneath it sat a mountain of presents, bright with bows and impossible optimism. Bill adjusted his borrowed party hat. It had a tiny felt rocket on top, which wobbled whenever he breathed. “We go in, collect the presents, and leave before anyone notices.” “Bill, there are thirty children in there.” “Then we’ll be gone before thirty people notice.” “That is not how noticing works.” He considered this. “We should have brought a larger hat.” Molly looked at the gifts. “We are professionals. We have standards.” “Since when?” “Since I saw the dinosaur wrapping paper. That is premium paper.” They had chosen the party because Bill claimed children were easily distracted. He had tested this theory by offering a seven-year-old a raisin. The child had looked at him with the grave suspicion of a customs officer and asked whether it was organic. Bill had not recovered. A sudden cheer erupted inside. Someone had brought out a cake shaped like a castle. Molly watched the children swarm around it, then glanced at the presents. For one shining moment, the room seemed unattended. Bill straightened. “Now?” “No.” “But the cake—” “Is surrounded by parents, children, and what appears to be a man dressed as a wizard.” “That’s the magician.” “He’s holding a rabbit.” “Exactly. Nobody will be looking at us.” Molly gave him a level stare. “You think a rabbit is a distraction?” “I think a rabbit is a professional distraction.” The front door opened. A woman stepped onto the porch carrying a tray of juice boxes. She spotted them in the hedge. “Are you here for Theo’s party?” she called. Bill sprang upright. His party hat caught in a branch and remained behind, like a tiny rocket launch gone wrong. “We’re the entertainment,” he announced. Molly rose beside him. “He means we’re the clowns.” The woman looked them over. Bill wore a tie covered in cartoon bananas; Molly had tucked a balloon animal into her coat pocket in case of emergencies. The woman smiled. “Wonderful. Theo loves clowns.” “We do?” Bill whispered. “We do now,” Molly whispered back. Five minutes later, they stood before the children, attempting to make a balloon poodle. Bill twisted the balloon with the concentration of a bomb technician. It burst. The children applauded anyway. Molly produced a second balloon. “And now, the amazing disappearing present!” Bill leaned toward her. “Is that part of the act?” “It is now.” She turned to the mountain of gifts. “We’re going to help Theo open them.” The children cheered. Bill paled. “Molly, that’s the opposite of stealing.” “Exactly,” she said, handing Theo a box. “Nobody suspects the people who give the presents back.” The children tore into the wrapping. Molly and Bill joined the applause, their criminal careers collapsing beneath a blizzard of dinosaur paper. By the time the cake appeared, Bill had been appointed assistant magician and Molly had a paper crown. “Next year,” Bill murmured, “we pick a party without presents.” “Next year,” said Molly, “we bring a better balloon animal.” A rabbit popped out of the magician’s hat. Bill applauded hardest of all.