Run: 2026-10-05-01M46BBK7G3GGCVS96V1S99PQ3

Molly spread the birthday invitation across their kitchen table, narrowly missing Bill’s bowl of cereal. “We are stealing every present.” “From a child?” “From a party. There’s a distinction.” “Yes. One sounds terrible and the other sounds terrible with balloons.” “Bill, focus. It’s a child. The security will be terrible.” Bill studied the invitation with the concentration he usually reserved for suspiciously discounted cheese wheels. “Theme: Princess Unicorn Police Academy.” “That complicates things.” “How?” “Children trained in magic and law enforcement.” “They’re not actually police.” “Then why does the invitation say offenders will be sent to the naughty castle?” Molly produced a diagram of the garden, complete with exits, shrubbery, and an enormous cupcake. “We enter as entertainers.” “I cannot entertain.” “You once juggled three stolen watches.” “I dropped them.” “The audience laughed.” “The audience was a magistrate.” “Perfect. You have professional experience working with an extremely hostile crowd.” Outside, rain tapped the window like a tiny detective who had forgotten his search warrant. “What are you going as?” “A fairy.” “With that face?” “A tired fairy.” “And I’m what?” “A dragon.” “Do I breathe fire?” “Only if you swallow candles. Otherwise, look financially distressed and guard the gifts.” Bill leaned back, imagining the costume; his chair complained with the weariness of unpaid staff. “How many presents?” “Twenty, maybe thirty.” “What if they’re educational?” “We sell them.” “To whom? Criminals don’t want fractions.” “Parents do.” “Parents already have fractions. Half their money disappears whenever someone says organic dinosaur nuggets.” Molly opened her notebook to a page headed PROFIT, then quietly crossed out the heading. “There could be electronics.” “There could be socks.” “Children don’t get socks.” “I did.” “That explains several things.” “My grandmother wrapped each sock separately. We thought she was generous until someone counted the feet involved.” For a moment, the kitchen fell silent except for rain and Bill’s spoon scraping porcelain. “We need a getaway vehicle.” “My bicycle.” “For thirty presents?” “It has a basket.” “Bill, some presents are bigger than baskets.” “Then we steal smaller presents.” “We said all.” “Fine. We requisition the birthday train.” Molly eyed the invitation again, and her expression changed from professional greed to personal offense. “Wait. It says no gifts.” “No gifts?” “Donations to the animal shelter instead.” “So the whole operation is doomed.” “There’s a registry.” “For puppies?” “For blankets and kibble.” “I refuse to fence kibble on principle.” Bill pushed the cereal aside and reached for their emergency envelope, marked DEFINITELY NOT RENT. “What are you doing?” “Buying a blanket.” “We’re thieves.” “We can diversify.” “This is humiliating.” “So is being arrested by a unicorn constable.” “One blanket. Nothing sentimental.” “Agreed. Shall we get the matching puppy pattern?” Molly sighed, pocketed the invitation, and began drawing wings on the back of their diagram. “We still need costumes.” “Why?” “Free cake.” “Now that’s a proper motive.” “And we steal the party bags.” “Those are given away.” “Don’t ruin this for me, Bill.” “Fine. An audacious confectionery heist. With stickers.”