Run: 2026-09-23-01M36R7VBSYBJXFTAMATX7R1AA

“The party starts at three,” Molly said, spreading a hand-drawn map across the diner table. “At four, the children are distracted by cake. At five, the presents are unattended.” Bill peered at the map. “This is a placemat.” “It has the building on it.” “It has a smiling pancake on it.” “That’s the community hall.” “The community hall has syrup?” Molly folded the placemat in half. “We’re breaking in, collecting every present, and leaving before anyone notices.” “Before anyone notices what?” “That the presents are gone.” “I feel like the children may notice.” “Children notice everything. They once spotted me hiding a cupcake behind my back.” “Was it because the cupcake was behind your back?” “It was because I was eating it.” Bill glanced toward the window, where a paper banner across the street read HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TREVOR! “I’m not sure I can rob a birthday party.” “You can. You’re just letting the balloons intimidate you.” “One of them says ‘You’re a big kid now.’ It knows my weaknesses.” “We go in, take the gifts, go out. Simple.” “Your last simple plan ended with me dressed as a garden gnome at a retirement home.” “You were convincing.” “They tried to water me.” Molly tapped the placemat. “Focus. What do children want most?” “Cake?” “Besides cake.” “More cake?” “Fine. What do thieves want most?” “An alibi?” “Bill.” “Presents, I suppose.” “Exactly. And we take all of them.” He stared at the banner again. “There are a lot of presents.” “How many?” “I can see twelve from here.” “You’re counting the ones in the window?” “I’m counting the ones stacked to the ceiling in my imagination.” Molly lowered her voice. “We can’t leave any behind. That’s how you get caught. You take one, they ask questions. You take all of them, they assume the party was a dream.” “That is not how dreams work.” “You don’t know. You’ve never had a birthday party.” “I had one.” “You invited the mailman?” “He brought a package. I thought it was a social call.” Molly sighed. “Look, we’ll be in and out before the candles are lit.” “Suppose a child asks what we’re doing?” “We say we’re the present inspectors.” “Do present inspectors exist?” “Not if we do this properly.” Bill pushed the placemat away. “Molly, those gifts are for a kid. He’s turning six.” “Six is old enough to understand disappointment.” “Is it?” “I understood it at six.” “Because your uncle gave you a sweater?” “Because my uncle gave me a sweater with a picture of himself on it.” Bill looked toward the party hall. A little boy pressed his face to the glass, holding up a crooked paper crown. Molly followed his gaze. “Don’t look at him.” “I wasn’t.” “He’s waving.” “I thought he was signaling for help.” “He’s waving, Bill.” Bill stood. “I’m going over there.” “To steal the presents?” “To ask if they need help carrying them inside.” Molly rose too, snatching up the placemat. “That is not the plan.” “It is now. And afterward, we can steal the cake.” She considered this. “Only if it’s chocolate.” “It’s a children’s party. Of course it’s chocolate.” “Then move, present inspector.” “I thought we weren’t inventing that job.” “We are now.”