Run: 2026-09-23-01M36P0N086SE95GAK1CCYAEA5

“You’re certain this is the party?” Bill whispered. Molly peered through the hedge. Beyond it, a banner read HAPPY SEVENTH BIRTHDAY, ARCHIE. “Unless there’s another seven-year-old named Archie with a magician, a bouncy castle, and a suspicious number of wrapped boxes.” “I meant the address.” “You’re holding the invitation.” “I’m holding a napkin with a cake stain.” “It’s a very informative cake stain.” Bill squinted at it. “The house number could be twelve or seventeen.” “Does it matter?” “It matters if we’re stealing presents from the wrong child.” Molly considered this. “Fair point. We should avoid becoming the first burglars in history to return a haul with an apology note.” A shriek rose from the garden. A small boy in a cardboard crown raced past, pursued by three children and a woman carrying a tray of cupcakes. Bill ducked. “They’re armed.” “With frosting?” “I’ve seen what a six-year-old can do with a cupcake.” Molly unfolded the napkin. “It says seventeen.” “This house is twelve.” “Then we’re at the wrong house.” “Excellent. Let’s leave.” “Not yet. Look at the presents.” Bill looked. A mountain of brightly wrapped boxes sat beside the back door. “Molly, those belong to the birthday child.” “Precisely. He won’t miss them until later.” “He’ll miss them when the party ends.” “By then, we’ll be gone.” “Gone where? We don’t have a car.” “We have your bicycle.” “My bicycle has one working pedal.” “The other one is mostly decorative.” “It’s the one I use.” Molly leaned closer to the gate. “We need a diversion.” “Absolutely not. Last time you said ‘diversion,’ I spent two hours disguised as a flamingo.” “You were very convincing.” “I was at a funeral.” “People admired your commitment.” Bill shook his head. “We are not stealing presents from a child.” “We’re borrowing them.” “For how long?” “Until the statute of limitations.” “That’s not how borrowing works.” “It is if you leave a note.” “What would the note say?” “‘Dear Archie, your presents are safe. Probably. Love, the temporary owners.’” A little girl appeared at the gate, holding a plastic wand. “Are you the clowns?” Molly straightened. “We’re the surprise.” The girl frowned. “You’re not wearing clown clothes.” “That’s why it’s a surprise,” Bill said. The girl opened the gate. “Stop,” Bill whispered. “We’re being invited inside.” “That’s convenient.” “That’s how traps work.” The girl pointed at Bill. “You can help with the magician. He needs someone to disappear.” Bill glanced at Molly. “This is our chance.” “To steal the presents?” “To disappear.” “Same thing, if we do it properly.” Inside, the magician’s assistant had vanished, the magician looked panicked, and a rabbit was chewing through a napkin. Molly nodded toward the presents. “We could take advantage of the confusion.” “Or we could help.” “Help the magician?” “Help the rabbit.” The rabbit bolted beneath a table. Bill followed, crawling. Molly sighed, then joined him. “Grab its left ear,” Bill whispered. “It’s a rabbit, not a suitcase.” “Then distract it with a cupcake.” Molly held out a cupcake. The rabbit seized it, and the children cheered. The magician clapped. “Wonderful! Now, can one of you vanish?” Bill looked at Molly. She smiled. “We’ll need a minute.” “Why?” “Because we’re about to perform our best trick.” They slipped out the front door. Bill glanced back. “We didn’t steal anything.” “Technically,” Molly said, “we stole the rabbit’s cupcake.” “That was for the rabbit.” “Then we’re accomplices.” “Next time, we rob a bank.” “Bill, banks have cameras.” “Children’s parties have magicians.” “And they’re much better at making things disappear.”