Run: 2026-09-23-01M36R3E4CHMD2RYGT36RM7MSZ

Molly and Bill crouched behind a hedge, studying the rainbow balloon arch guarding the community hall like a very cheerful dragon with excellent dental coverage. “There are forty presents inside. I counted every ribbon.” “You counted ribbons?” “They were color coded. This is research, Bill, not some advanced craft class.” Bill unfolded a napkin map, which showed the hall, the kitchen, and a sketch of a duck wearing sunglasses, for reasons Molly refused to ask. “The duck is security?” “No, it’s the birthday boy. He drew this map.” “Then we should fear his artistic range, especially when he’s entirely unsupervised.” Their plan was simple: enter during musical chairs, locate the gift table, and exit before anyone noticed the suspiciously gift shaped sacks they had packed. “When the music stops, everyone sits. We grab gifts according to protocol.” “And if someone sits on a gift?” “We congratulate their excellent timing, politely.” Molly produced a black outfit, then reconsidered when the hall’s windows revealed her reflection looked exactly like a burglar in a children’s book, tonight, apparently. “Black is wonderfully stealthy.” “Black is alarming. I look like a cartoon burglar.” “A convincing one.” “That is not encouragement.” “I am trying here, honestly.” From inside came a burst of laughter, followed by a child’s trumpet solo that sounded like a goose arguing with a kettle during a thunderstorm. “Children are unpredictable. They detect adults pretending to enjoy games.” “I lost at pin the tail.” “Were you blindfolded?” “Emotionally, yes. I was simply overwhelmed.” A paper crown drifted beneath the door, landing at Bill’s feet; he picked it up and wore it, testing its authority with grave professional concern. “Your Majesty, the loot awaits.” “Then let our subjects party on.” “You are not king.” “Not with that attitude.” “The van has my spare crown.” The side entrance opened with a squeak, revealing a corridor full of streamers, toy dinosaurs, and one vigilant grandmother knitting furiously beside the punch bowl. “Good evening. We are entertainers.” “What do you entertain?” “Mostly ourselves, madam.” “Then you’ll be delighted by the party.” “We accept cash, snacks, or applause.” Before either could improvise further, a small boy marched up wearing a cape and asked whether their disguises came in smaller sizes for younger villains. “We’re the party magicians.” “Can you make presents disappear?” “We can make them reappear.” “With better wrapping?” “With honest receipts.” “Can you make dinosaurs dance?” While children debated dinosaur magic, Molly and Bill bundled presents into sacks; the grandmother recognized the famous balloon thieves, and Molly elbowed Bill quite firmly. “You’re the balloon thieves?” “Retired.” “We specialize in presents.” “He means helping with presents.” “Excellent. Carry these inside.” “And perhaps entertain the children during cake.” They carried all presents back to the hall’s gift table, where children surrounded them, demanding magic, balloon animals, and demonstration of the crown before cake. “We came to steal everything. But now we’re booked until cake.” “Our greatest heist is childcare.” “And the crown?” “Tax deductible, if we keep receipts.”