Run: 2026-10-05-01M46B7RNJ05V6D8KWZWCXDF9Y

Molly spread the birthday invitation across a wobbly café table. Beside it, Bill arranged three crayons, a biscuit, and a photograph of himself looking trustworthy. Rain tapped the window. Somewhere nearby, a child laughed, which Bill took as a personal warning. Molly studied the invitation with professional, entirely misplaced seriousness. “All the presents. Every last one.” “Even the educational ones?” “Especially those. Nobody suspects a thief carrying multiplication.” “I suspect anyone carrying multiplication.” “Bill, this is our chance to retire.” “On what? A mountain of plastic dinosaurs?” “Some dinosaurs are collectible.” “Some are sticky. Last time I touched a stegosaurus, I remained attached to a toddler until Tuesday.” “We go in as entertainment.” “I refuse to be a clown.” “You already own the trousers.” “They’re formal trousers.” “They honk.” “Only when I sit.” “We need to look like we belong.” “I’ve brought my trustworthy photograph.” “That photograph looks wanted.” “It was taken before the misunderstanding.” “The misunderstanding involving the magistrate’s lawn?” “He should have labeled his flamingos.” “Clearly.” Bill tucked the photograph away, offended on behalf of his former innocence. Molly drew a cake on the invitation, then crossed it out when hunger threatened her concentration. Their last successful robbery had yielded eleven umbrellas and a commemorative spoon. Neither liked to discuss the umbrella storage situation at home. “What if there’s a magician?” “We ignore him.” “What if he makes us disappear?” “Then we save on transport.” “What if he produces a rabbit?” “We’re stealing presents, Bill, not opening a farm.” “I’m establishing boundaries.” “Fine. No rabbits.” “And no balloon animals. They squeak when nervous.” “Balloons don’t get nervous.” “You haven’t seen me hold one.” “Molly, whose birthday is this?” “Someone called Alfie. Seven.” “Seven? That’s a dangerous age.” “Why?” “They ask questions. Relentlessly. Why is your nose red? Why are your trousers honking? Why are you putting my telescope inside your coat?” “You could simply say you’re cold.” “With a telescope?” “Emotionally cold.” “That feels honest.” “We’ll take everything and be gone before cake.” “Everything, Molly?” Molly hesitated. Bill watched her pencil hover over the printed balloons. Beneath Alfie’s name, someone had added a crooked drawing of a superhero carrying a cat. The cat wore a crown. For reasons neither thief could have explained, this complicated matters considerably. Bill pushed the biscuit toward her without ceremony. “Perhaps not the telescope.” “Or the dinosaurs.” “Obviously not the dinosaurs.” “Or anything he particularly wants.” “That could substantially reduce our haul.” “To nothing.” “Yes, thank you, accountant.” “We could steal the washing up.” “You cannot steal a chore.” “Watch me. I’m extraordinarily gifted.” “We’d be unpaid party staff.” “Disguised as thieves.” “That’s backwards.” “Our entire career is backwards. We own eleven umbrellas and still get wet.” “Fine. We go, we wash dishes, we eat cake.” “And bring a present.” “What present?” “A commemorative spoon.” “Children hate spoons.” “Not if they’re magic.” “Is ours magic?” “It made our retirement disappear.” “Wrap it.” “In what?” “Your trustworthy photograph.” “Finally. Honest packaging.”