Run: 2026-10-27-01M5YF82VWAPZ85MKTD04M4CSX

Molly spread the birthday invitation across the kitchen table, weighting its corners with a stapler, a salt cellar, and two stolen teaspoons. A grinning cartoon dinosaur announced that Oliver was turning six. Beneath it, Molly had drawn a floor plan in red pencil. “The target is the present table, here beside the bouncy castle. We go in after the cake, when everyone’s distracted.” Bill studied the diagram. Molly’s bouncy castle looked like a badly injured octopus. The present table, by contrast, had been rendered with architectural precision, down to the gift bags hanging from its corners. Bill counted twenty-three boxes and a suspiciously lumpy envelope. “We could go as entertainers. I’ve got a magician’s cape, and I know a trick with a boiled egg.” Molly tapped the invitation. The party already had a magician, a face painter, and a woman who made balloon animals. She had underlined the words “no additional entertainment” twice, then added three exclamation marks of her own. “Absolutely not. Last time you performed that trick, we spent an hour explaining the egg to the police.” Bill folded his arms. He still maintained that the egg had entered the inspector’s pocket voluntarily. He reached for a biscuit, but Molly moved the plate aside and replaced it with a photograph of the garden gate. “I have another idea. We dress as delivery drivers, collect the presents, and say the wrapping’s been recalled.” Molly considered this. Children were notoriously gullible, but parents were an entirely different species, equipped with eyes in the backs of their heads and the ability to detect suspicious silence from three rooms away. A wrapping recall might not withstand scrutiny. “Good start, but we need a better reason. We’ll say the presents must be moved indoors before the sprinklers start.” Bill brightened and drew a dotted line from the table to the gate. Molly added a small square to represent their getaway van. Then she added a second square, because Bill had parked the van in the wrong street. “What about the birthday boy? Six-year-olds notice when you take their presents, especially if you take every single one.” Molly opened her handbag and produced a sheet of gold stars. Her plan, she explained, involved giving Oliver an important job: guarding the cake from pigeons. Bill examined the stars, then stuck one to his own sleeve. “Then we keep him busy. You give him the stickers, and I’ll tell him the cake needs a security guard.” Bill nodded, though he looked troubled. Molly knew he had a weakness for birthday cakes, particularly the corner pieces with extra icing. She drew a large cross over the cake on the floor plan. “And if somebody asks why the security guard is six, I’ll say he passed the interview with flying colors.” They packed the stickers, two reflective vests, and a collapsible trolley. Bill added his magician’s cape when Molly wasn’t looking. Outside, the van waited beneath a streetlamp, its engine ticking and its passenger door decorated with a gold star.