Run: 2026-09-23-01M37J2YH3RG61YNS5HY12RR26

Molly spread a crayon map across the café table. Bill moved his coffee off the swimming pool. “That’s not a swimming pool,” Molly said. “That’s the ball pit.” “Why is it blue?” “Because I only had three crayons. Focus. Saturday, two o’clock. We go in, we take the presents, we leave.” “All of them?” “All of them.” Bill studied the map. “There are seventeen children.” “Sixteen. The one with the crown is a cardboard princess.” “You’ve been inside?” “I attended the reconnaissance party.” “You went to a child’s birthday party without me?” “I told you there’d be cake.” “You said the cake was a lie.” “It was. They had cupcakes.” Bill pushed the map away. Outside, rain slid down the café window, making the bakery opposite look as if it were melting. “I don’t like this,” he said. “Stealing from children.” “We’re stealing from their parents. Children don’t have money.” “They’ll notice their presents are gone.” “Only briefly. They have the attention spans of sparrows.” “My niece remembers the exact location of a biscuit I ate in 2021.” Molly lowered her voice. “These aren’t birthday presents. The parents bring one wrapped gift each for a raffle. The proceeds go to the school roof.” “That makes it worse.” “How?” “The roof’s for children.” “The gifts are donated by the parents, who can afford them. We sell the gifts, then pay for the roof ourselves. We keep whatever’s left.” Bill stared at her. “You want to steal a raffle to donate to its own cause?” “Yes.” “Why not just buy tickets?” “Because my mother’s running it.” “That explains the wig.” Molly touched her enormous blond curls. “She’d recognise me.” “She’d recognise you from space. You’re wearing her earrings.” “They complete the disguise.” “They have your name on them.” Molly tucked the earrings into her coat. “Fine. New problem: the presents are beside the buffet. Your job is distraction.” “What kind?” “Magic.” “I know one trick.” “It’s a good trick.” “You screamed when I did it.” “Because my watch disappeared.” “It came back.” “Three days later, in your shoe.” Bill leaned over the map. “What if I dress as the cardboard princess?” “The princess has no legs.” “I’ll stand behind the table.” “You’ll need to stand there for three hours.” “I’ve waited longer for a bus.” Molly considered this. Bill brightened. “No,” she said. “You distract the adults. I’ll carry the presents out.” “In what?” She produced a folded canvas bag. Bill unfolded it until it covered both their laps and brushed the floor. “That holds a bicycle.” “Exactly.” “A bicycle would be less suspicious.” “Then put a bell on the bag.” Bill folded it again. “What happens when your mother catches us?” “She won’t.” “And if she does?” Molly looked out at the rain. “She’ll make us stack chairs.” Bill shuddered. “Last year she made me judge the costume contest.” “You gave every child first prize.” “They all looked disappointed.” “Because you ate the prizes.” “They were chocolate medals. I thought they were for the judges.” Molly rolled up the map. “Two o’clock. Bring the watch.” “For the trick?” “No. So we know when to run.” Bill checked his wrist. “It’s still in my other shoe.”