Run: 2026-10-06-01M48W213BGZFMQ2ESPJG7KG5J

Molly spread the party invitations across the kitchen table like a deck of cards, each one glittering with unicorns and princesses. Bill leaned over, squinting at the smallest one. "They're seven," Bill said. "Seven-year-olds, Molly. Do you know what seven-year-olds do?" "They open presents," Molly said. "They scream. They cry. They have that... what's the word... *energy*." "They have cake," Molly said, tapping the invitation that read CAKE AT 2 PM. Bill picked up a juice box from the counter, the kind with the silly straw. "I'm just saying, we've done museums. We've done a casino. We've done that weird aquarium where the guy kept calling me 'buddy.' But a children's birthday party? That's... that's a new level." "They won't suspect us," Molly said. "We'll wear costumes." "We'll wear *what* costumes?" "Adult costumes. At a children's party. Nobody questions a grown man in a dinosaur outfit at a seven-year-old's birthday. It's expected." Bill thought about this. He finished his juice box and crushed it dramatically. "Okay. But I'm drawing the line at face paint." "Fine. No face paint. But I'm keeping the dinosaur tail." "There's no dinosaur tail." "There will be." They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their plan settling between them like a warm blanket made of poor decisions. "What's the mark?" Bill asked finally. "The presents," Molly said. "All of them. The kid's name is Tyler. His parents are loaded. I looked them up. They have a boat." "A boat?" "Named something stupid. Like the Sea Princess or whatever." "That's not stupid, that's—" "Whatever. The point is, Tyler's getting a tablet, a bike, probably one of those electric cars kids drive now. We take the presents, we leave before the cake, we're gone." "And the parents?" "Distracted. There's usually a magician, or a clown, or some guy with a guitar who thinks he's funny. We blend in." Bill nodded slowly. "What if the kids notice us?" "Kids are stupid," Molly said. "That's... that's not very nice, Molly." "Kids are *distractable*. We bring candy. We throw candy. They forget we exist." "That's better. That's almost ethical." "It's a heist, Bill. There's no ethics. There's just timing." Molly pulled out a notebook, the kind with a unicorn on the cover that she'd bought specifically for this job. "Timeline. We arrive at 1:45. Party starts at 2. We mingle. We find the presents. They're usually in a corner, wrapped, waiting. We bag them. We leave by 2:30, before the cake, before the meltdown, before anyone realizes their child's birthday has been compromised by two adults with a duffel bag and questionable motives." "And if someone stops us?" "Then I say I'm Tyler's uncle. You say you're... I don't know... his other uncle. We have a lot of uncles. It's a big family." "My family's small." "Then you're a family friend. A very close family friend. You've known Tyler since he was born. You were there. You helped name him." "I didn't help name Tyler." "You could have. Nobody would know." Bill stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the ordinary suburban street where their target lived. Somewhere out there, a child was about to have the worst birthday of his short life. "What do we do with the presents?" he asked. "We sell them. Or we keep them. I don't know. I've never stolen a tablet before. Do tablets have resale value?" "Everything has resale value, Molly. That's the point of stealing things." "Right. Of course." She closed her unicorn notebook. "So we're doing this." "We're doing this." "Good." Molly smiled, and it was the smile of someone who had already planned three backup plans and was excited to use at least one of them. "I'll get the costumes." "Please tell me you're not getting matching dinosaur outfits." "I'm getting matching dinosaur outfits." Bill sighed, but he was smiling too. "Fine. But I'm the T-Rex. You're the triceratops." "Deal." They shook on it, two thieves bound by friendship and the promise of a tablet, a bike, and possibly a small electric car, all waiting in a suburban living room, wrapped in paper and innocence and the complete unawareness of what was coming for them.