Run: 2026-10-05-01M46BGABGDZE412KHX695JBEG

Molly spread the birthday invitation across a sticky café table. Bill studied it with the expression of a man confronting an unusually aggressive tax form. “The target is seven. We enter at two, collect every present, and leave before cake. Nobody ever suspects adults carrying enormous bags at these things.” Bill turned the invitation over. A cartoon dinosaur wore a crown. Underneath, somebody had written NO NUTS in letters that suggested previous festivities had casualties. “I have concerns. First, we're stealing from children. Second, this dinosaur looks judgmental. Third, does no nuts include people like us, or only actual peanuts?” Molly produced two disguises from a shopping bag: a magician's cape and a rabbit costume. Bill poked the rabbit's stomach, which gave an accusatory squeak. “You're my assistant. While I distract everyone with magic, you put the presents inside the rabbit. It's spacious, discreet, and technically already full of stuffing.” Bill held the costume against himself. Its ears brushed the ceiling fan, which rotated slowly, as though considering whether to participate in this criminal enterprise. “Discreet? I'll resemble a wardrobe having a nervous breakdown. Also, what magic? Your last disappearing act involved my rent money and three suspiciously expensive sandwiches.” Molly opened her notebook. The plan featured arrows, timings, and a drawing of Bill fleeing a balloon animal. She covered that drawing with her thumb. “I've learned tricks. Observe: I take this coin, close my fist, say abracadabra, and suddenly you owe me fifty pounds. That's practically how banking works.” Bill waited for the coin to disappear. It fell into Molly's coffee. Neither spoke until the waitress delivered their muffins and an unmistakably professional glare. “Fine. Suppose we get inside. What happens when somebody asks whose dad I am? I can't say yours again. You have considerably stronger eyebrows than me.” Molly checked the invitation again. Entertainment was listed between musical chairs and something called Captain Glitter's Surprise. Both thieves instinctively leaned away from those words. “We'll say we're replacing Captain Glitter. Entertainers never need identification. They need confidence, washable trousers, and the ability to survive questions about where babies originate.” Bill pictured twenty small faces evaluating his rabbit credentials. Somewhere outside, a child screamed with delight. He flinched so hard his muffin lost its hat. “And the haul? Building bricks, finger paints, maybe one genuinely good telescope. We cannot fence finger paints. Last time, the fence made us finger paintings.” Molly glanced at their overdue bill, then at the smiling dinosaur. Her grand criminal ambition began shrinking to the size of a supermarket birthday candle. “There's also an entertainer's fee. Two hundred pounds, according to this. We could take that instead, provided we accidentally perform an adequate show while infiltrating.” Bill lowered the rabbit suit. For the first time all morning, he looked hopeful. Molly retrieved her coin, wiped it clean, and reconsidered her profession. “So our revised heist is getting hired, doing the work, and accepting payment? Bold. Nobody will see that coming. Especially our accountant. I'll practice hopping.”