Run: 2026-10-05-01M46BFC2PM8CAN5RA4D5ZQDVH

Molly spread the birthday invitation across their kitchen table as though it were a blueprint for the national mint. Glitter clung to her fingers. Across from her, Bill wore a black turtleneck and the strained expression of a man who had discovered that criminal masterminds also had to buy groceries. “The target is seven years old, Bill. Do not let her innocence compromise your professionalism.” “I am professional. I brought gloves, disguises, and a strongly worded objection to stealing glitter.” Their target, Poppy Henderson, had requested a princess party with dinosaurs, an aesthetic Molly respected. The invitation promised cake, entertainment, and a mountain of presents. Bill had circled mountain three times, then drawn a skier beside it. He considered visual aids essential to planning, particularly when the stakes involved frosting. “We enter as entertainers, collect the presents, and leave before anyone notices their sudden disappointment.” “What entertainers? You juggle badly, and my balloon animals all look like sausages experiencing problems.” Molly produced two costumes from a shopping bag. One was a dragon. The other was technically a knight, although its plastic breastplate featured a smiling carrot. Bill examined the dragon head with suspicion. Its expression suggested it knew something about taxes and would never share that knowledge with anyone else. “You are the dragon. I am the knight. Nobody questions medieval professionals carrying large sacks.” “Children question everything. My niece asked whether clouds have bones. I panicked and said sometimes.” On the refrigerator, their previous score remained listed under Outstanding Debts: twelve pounds and a borrowed bicycle. Molly ignored it. Great criminal careers required optimism. Bill, meanwhile, tried the dragon head. Through its mesh nostrils, he could see almost nothing except the deeply accusatory glow of the refrigerator debt ledger. “We should reconsider. Presents are unpredictable. Last Christmas, someone gave me socks with toe compartments.” “Stay focused, Bill. We steal every present, sell the valuable ones, and dispose of socks.” The plan encountered its first obstacle when Molly read the invitation again. Gifts, it said, should be donations for the animal shelter. Beneath that, Poppy had added a drawing of a dog with wheels wearing a crown. Bill removed the dragon head. Suddenly the kitchen felt less like criminal headquarters. “Molly, that dog has a crown. We cannot rob royalty, especially royalty with mobility issues.” “Fine. New plan: we attend, deliver presents, eat cake, and steal dignity survives this conversation.” Bill nodded with the solemnity of a man accepting reduced profits. They searched the flat for suitable donations and found three blankets, unopened dog biscuits, and a squeaky rubber chicken from an unsuccessful extortion attempt. Molly packed everything into their loot sack, crossing out SWAG and writing COMMUNITY OUTREACH underneath. At departure, Bill struggled through the doorway sideways, his dragon tail knocking their debt ledger onto the floor. Molly picked it up and added cake beneath expected income. For once, the figures looked promising. They left wearing criminal expressions, charitable costumes, and the dangerous confidence of people promised unlimited buttercream.