Run: 2026-09-23-01M36P202TAF7GZPEJFF9H9BBZ

“We need a plan,” Molly whispered, peering through the hedge at the children’s party. “A good plan. A quiet plan. A plan that doesn’t involve you wearing that.” Bill looked down at his bright purple magician’s cape. “It’s a disguise.” “It’s a bedsheet with stars glued to it.” “Stars are mysterious.” “Those stars are peeling off.” “One has already escaped. That makes the rest more convincing.” Across the garden, a mountain of wrapped presents sat beneath a paper banner reading HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LUCY. Children darted around it like excited squirrels. A clown juggled oranges near the cake. Molly narrowed her eyes. “We go in during the puppet show,” she said. “Everyone will be watching the stage.” “And we take the presents?” “We take the presents.” “All of them?” “That is generally what ‘all the presents’ means.” Bill nodded solemnly. “I’m glad we’ve settled the moral questions.” “You’re the one who wanted to bring a sack.” “It’s traditional.” “It says ‘Merry Christmas’ on the side.” “Traditional in December.” “It’s June.” “Then it’s ironic.” Molly pulled a pair of garden gloves from her pocket. “We need to blend in. I’ll pretend to be a parent. You’ll pretend to be a clown.” “I can’t juggle.” “Can you walk?” “With confidence.” “Then you’re halfway there.” They slipped through a gap in the hedge. Bill immediately stepped on a squeaky toy. It let out a shrill honk. A boy turned. “Are you a clown?” Bill froze. “I am.” “Why are you dressed like a wizard?” “Clowns have many departments,” Bill said. “I’m in magical entertainment.” “Can you make my dad disappear?” “Not without paperwork,” Molly said, appearing beside him with a smile. “He’s new.” The boy raced back to the party. Bill exhaled. “See?” he murmured. “A natural.” “You nearly promised to vanish someone’s father.” “I was establishing credibility.” Molly pointed toward the present table. “When the puppets start, we grab the gifts and leave through the side gate.” “What if a child asks us to open one?” “We say we’re taking them to the gift-opening area.” “Where is that?” “Somewhere far away.” A bell rang. The children crowded around the puppet stage. Molly and Bill crept toward the presents, hunched beneath the hedge’s shadow. “Quietly,” Molly whispered. “I am quiet.” “You’re humming.” “It helps me sneak.” “It helps everyone hear you sneak.” Bill reached for a large gold-wrapped box. Molly stopped him. “Careful. That one’s enormous.” “Maybe it’s a television.” “For a seven-year-old?” “A very ambitious seven-year-old.” They lifted it together. The box gave a muffled bark. Bill stared at Molly. “Is this party giving away dogs?” “Put it down.” “But it’s probably the best present.” “It’s probably alive.” The box barked again. A little girl turned from the puppet show and spotted them. “That’s my puppy!” she cried. Molly and Bill set the box down gently. “Happy birthday,” Molly said. “Thank you!” the girl said, hugging the package. Bill gave a small bow. “Your puppy has excellent wrapping.” The girl grinned and ran back to her friends. Molly grabbed Bill’s sleeve. “We’re leaving.” “Empty-handed?” “Not entirely.” She plucked a paper party hat from his cape and put it on her head. “We’ve learned something.” “What?” “Children’s parties are heavily guarded.” “And the cake?” “Bill.” “I’m only asking for the plan.” Molly looked at the cake, then at the clown, who was now juggling oranges and one very nervous balloon. “Fine,” she said. “We steal a slice.” Bill brightened. “A heist with dessert.” “Quietly.” He nodded, then stepped on the squeaky toy again. The clown waved. Bill waved back. “Blending in,” he whispered. “Perfectly,” Molly sighed, as the children began to clap.