Run: 2026-09-23-01M36RE7Y6FVG0CHNKHMFKTVRH

Molly watched the house across the street through a pair of binoculars that had been designed for bird-watching and were currently focused on a balloon shaped like a sausage dog. “Reconnaissance,” she whispered. “You’re looking at a balloon,” said Bill. “It’s guarding the presents.” The house was bright with streamers, paper crowns, and the unmistakable chaos of a children’s birthday party. Through the front window, Molly could see a mountain of wrapped gifts beneath a banner reading HAPPY SEVENTH BIRTHDAY, ARCHIE. Bill had brought a duffel bag. Molly had brought a clipboard, because she believed every crime improved with paperwork. “Once we’re inside, we take everything,” she said. “Everything?” “All the presents.” “Even the ones from the grandparents?” “Especially those. Grandparents wrap with confidence. There could be treasure in there.” Bill studied the house. “What’s our disguise?” Molly glanced at his suit, which had a stain shaped like a small continent. “You’re the magician.” “I don’t know any magic.” “Neither do most magicians.” She marched across the street. Bill followed, carrying the duffel bag and an expression of deep professional regret. The front door opened before they reached it, and a woman in a paper crown thrust two party hats into their hands. “You’re the entertainers?” she asked. Molly paused. “Yes.” Bill looked at the hats. “We are?” “Wonderful. The children are waiting. The rabbit escaped, the magician canceled, and Archie has been asking for a surprise.” Molly leaned toward Bill. “We’re in.” “I think we’re in a party.” “Same thing, with more frosting.” The children sat in a circle while Molly improvised a magic act involving a handkerchief, a coin, and Bill’s left ear. The coin vanished. Bill found it in his collar, then in his shoe, then—somehow—in a bowl of jelly. “Your magic is very sticky,” Archie observed. “It’s an advanced technique,” Molly said. Bill attempted a card trick. He fanned the deck, dropped every card, and watched them scatter beneath the sofa. The children applauded anyway, mostly because one card had landed in the birthday cake. While the adults hurried to rescue the frosting, Molly crept toward the presents. She lifted the duffel bag. Archie appeared beside her, holding a wrapped box with a crooked bow. “Are you taking these to the gift table?” he asked. Molly glanced at the bag. “Yes.” “Good. I made one for you.” He handed her a lumpy package decorated with stickers. Molly’s fingers stopped on the zipper. “What’s inside?” she asked. “A picture of my dog. He’s dead, but Mum says he’d like the party.” Bill arrived with a paper plate balanced on his head. He looked at the child, the package, and Molly. “New plan,” he said. “Do we have one?” “We do now.” They spent the next hour distributing gifts, serving cake, and leading a game of musical statues. Bill lost every round because he took the music too seriously and froze mid-bite. Molly won a prize: a plastic whistle and a drawing of a dog. At the door, the birthday mother thanked them and pressed two slices of cake into their hands. Outside, Bill eyed the empty duffel bag. “Worst heist ever,” he said. Molly tucked Archie’s drawing into her coat. “No. We got away with the cake.”