Run: 2026-10-08-01M4D9YBHWCW7QVW6H4B6WS62P

The rain had given up around nine o'clock, leaving the streets of Maplewood slick and smelling of wet hedges. Molly crouched behind a recycling bin across from the Pembrook house, where forty-two balloons bobbed against the porch railing and a banner shouted HAPPY SEVENTH BIRTHDAY, HARPER! Bill crawled up beside her, dragging a duffel bag that clanked suspiciously. "Why are we whispering? Nobody can hear us over that bouncy castle." "Because we're professionals, Bill." She peered through the hedge. "Okay. Status report." Bill flipped open a notebook. "Front door: unlocked, because the mother is inside yelling about a piñata. Side gate: squeaky, so we use the back. Presents: stacked on the dining table, approximately thirty, all wrapped in glittery paper." "Glitter is a problem. Glitter gets everywhere." "Glitter is a problem for people with nice carpets, Molly. Not for us." She tugged her gloves tighter. "Remember the plan. In, grab the gifts, out. No touching the kids." "No touching the kids," Bill repeated solemnly. "I still don't understand why we're stealing from a seven-year-old." "Because a seven-year-old has a drone, a telescope, and an opera-singing dinosaur. We're redistributing wealth." "We're redistributing a dinosaur that sings opera to my nephew's birthday party." They slipped through the gate, which squeaked exactly as predicted. Bill winced. Molly hissed at him. Inside the kitchen, a clown was twisting balloon animals, and a dog in a party hat was snoring under the table. The presents glittered in a towering pile beside the cake. Molly grabbed the first box, a long one, and shook it. "Ooh. Heavy. Could be a trampoline." "Could be a brick," Bill whispered. "Put it in the bag." Just then a small voice piped up from the hallway. "Are you the robbers?" They froze. A girl in a sparkly tiara stood in the doorway, holding a half-eaten cupcake. Molly straightened, dignified. "We are... party consultants." "You're wearing masks." "Part of the consulting." The girl considered this with the seriousness of a tiny judge. "Can you stay? Grandpa's doing the magic trick again and it's terrible." Bill looked at Molly. Molly looked at the pile of presents. Somewhere in the living room, the dinosaur began to sing. "Right," Molly sighed, dropping the box. "Change of plan."