Run: 2026-09-23-01M37PJTX98DVRZ2SJ7S9EGM7W

Molly unrolled the blueprints across the hood of the van, pinning one corner with a thermos and the other with Bill's elbow. The target was 14 Pemberton Close, a modest semi-detached currently wrapped in more balloons than a hot-air festival. Inside, according to their intel, lay forty-two gift-wrapped boxes, a bouncy castle, and one Tobias Finch, who was turning seven at three o'clock sharp. "Entry point's the cat flap, obviously," Molly said. Bill looked down at his own considerable stomach, then back at her, deeply wounded. She ignored him and tapped the diagram. The plan was elegant. Bill would pose as the hired magician, a role he had rehearsed for nine days, mostly by pulling the same exhausted rabbit from the same hat. While thirty children watched him fail spectacularly, Molly would slip through the kitchen, load the presents into a laundry trolley, and wheel them out past the parents, who would be too busy holding paper plates of cocktail sausages to notice anything. "What if the kids recognise me?" Bill asked. Molly paused. Bill had, after all, been arrested at a bowling alley birthday party last spring, still holding cake. "Wear the fake beard, the big one," she said.