Run: 2026-09-23-01M36R49R1XG2JDNSJHJ4BVV82

“Remind me why we’re stealing presents from a children’s party,” Molly whispered. “Because,” Bill whispered back, “the presents are expensive, the children are distracted, and our rent is due.” “Those are three reasons. Two are terrible.” “Which one is good?” “The children are distracted. That makes it worse.” They stood beside a folding table beneath a banner that read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ARCHIBALD! Inside the hall, children shrieked with the gleeful abandon of tiny people who had never received a utility bill. A mountain of brightly wrapped gifts sat beside the cake. Bill peered at it. “That’s a lot of loot.” “It’s a lot of presents.” “Loot with bows.” “Bill, there are dinosaurs on that wrapping paper.” “Dinosaurs are famously indifferent to property law.” Molly eyed the open doorway. “We go in, blend with the grown-ups, gather everything, and leave.” “Blend how?” “Act natural.” “I once acted natural at a bank and got asked if I was waiting for someone.” “That was because you wore a ski mask.” “It was cold.” Molly sighed. “Just follow my lead.” They entered. A woman wearing a paper crown rushed past with a tray of juice boxes. Neither thief looked remotely like a parent, but Bill put on a smile so broad it seemed medically concerning. A small boy approached them. “Are you the magicians?” Bill glanced at Molly. “We are now.” Molly crouched. “What makes you think that?” “You’re wearing black, and you look nervous.” “Excellent instincts,” Bill said. “You’ll go far.” The boy pointed at the presents. “Can you make those disappear?” Molly’s smile stiffened. “We can make them… relocate.” “Like magic?” “Exactly,” Bill said. “The oldest kind.” Molly grabbed his sleeve. “We are not stealing from a child.” “I’m not stealing from a child. I’m stealing from a pile.” “The pile belongs to the child.” “Which child? There are twelve.” “Bill.” “What? I’m asking about jurisdiction.” A girl in a glittery cape appeared beside them. “My grandpa says magicians need an assistant.” Bill brightened. “At last, respect for the profession.” Molly whispered, “We are not doing a show.” “Then why are you standing by the presents?” the girl asked. “Because,” Molly said, “we’re… present inspectors.” The girl frowned. “That’s not a job.” “Not with that attitude,” Bill said. The children began gathering around them. Molly shot Bill a look that could have curdled the punch. “Fine,” he murmured. “We’ll do one trick, then leave.” “You know a trick?” “I can make a coin disappear.” “Where does it go?” “Usually down my shirt.” “That’s not a trick.” “It’s a magic trick if nobody sees.” Bill plucked a coin from behind the birthday boy’s ear. The children gasped. Molly looked impressed despite herself. “Now make the presents disappear!” someone shouted. “Absolutely not,” Molly said. Bill raised his hands. “Instead, we shall make one present appear—to the person who brought the biggest cake!” The children cheered. The birthday boy’s grandmother stepped forward, laughing, and handed them a gift bag. Molly leaned close. “We came here to steal everything.” “And now we’re giving away one thing,” Bill said. “That’s practically a career change.” “It’s a gift bag, Bill.” “Small steps.” Molly watched the children clap as the grandmother opened it. Inside was a knitted sweater shaped like a lobster. Bill nodded solemnly. “We leave before they ask us to make the cake disappear.” “Agreed.” They backed toward the door. “Wait!” the boy called. “Can you come back next year?” Bill glanced at Molly. “Only if the lobster sweater’s insured,” she said. They fled into the night, empty-handed, oddly popular, and carrying one juice box they had not paid for.