Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HV9CN4M3EQE837C0188B9

The invitation lay between them on the café table, glittering beneath a smear of ketchup. Molly had obtained it from a recycling bin. Bill had brought binoculars, a balloon pump, and the haunted expression of a man who had once lost an argument with a piñata. Outside, rain blurred the windows. “Seven years old,” Molly said. “Twenty guests. Twenty presents, minimum. I counted three grandparents on the guest list, so we might be looking at thirty.” “Your maths assumes the grandparents understand boundaries,” Bill said. “My nan once gave me a live goose. I was thirty-four and allergic to feathers.” Molly turned the invitation over. A cartoon dinosaur smiled above the words MOSTLY INDOORS. She had hoped for an outdoor party. Outdoors meant plenty of space and adults whose attention could be diverted by weather. Indoors meant a hallway full of tiny shoes and somebody’s father standing beside the coats, asking questions. “We blend in,” she said. “You’re a magician. I’m your assistant.” “You can’t be my assistant. You’re better at magic than I am.” “Exactly. I do the tricks. You wear a cape and make the children expect less.” Bill considered this. Across the café, a toddler dropped a spoon and looked delighted with the result. Bill looked away first. He had faced museum guards, furious dogs, and one surprisingly athletic mayor, but children unsettled him. They noticed everything, particularly the things adults had paid good money to conceal. “What if they ask for a rabbit?” he said. “We tell them the rabbit is on holiday.” “Seven-year-olds don’t believe rabbits take holidays.” “Then you’ve underestimated rabbits. Pack the cape.” Molly drew a rough rectangle on a napkin to represent the party room. Before she could add a doorway, a woman at the next table leaned over. She had been listening for some time, judging by her smile. Molly covered the napkin with her hand, though the drawing looked more like a biscuit. “Sorry,” the woman said. “Are you two the entertainers for Alfie’s party? I’m his mother.” Bill made a sound like a balloon surrendering. “Yes,” Molly said. “And we’re terribly excited.” “Wonderful. One small change: the party’s at the hospital now. Alfie’s little sister can’t come home yet, and he wouldn’t celebrate without her.” The woman returned to her coffee. Molly and Bill sat quietly. Rain tapped at the window. Bill folded his binoculars into their case; Molly smoothed the glittering invitation flat. Across the café, the toddler dropped the spoon again. Neither thief offered to pick it up, but both watched until someone did. “We can’t steal presents from a hospital,” Bill whispered. “No,” Molly said. “We’d have to steal them before they got there.” “Molly.” “I’m joking. Put the balloon pump away.” Bill slipped it under the table. “We could still go,” he said. “Do a show for free.” “You don’t know any tricks.” “I can make a goose disappear. Eventually.” Molly began to laugh, then stopped to consider the balloon pump. “Can you make balloon animals?” “No. But I can make balloon questions.” “Good enough,” she said, and picked up the invitation.