Run: 2026-10-27-01M5YJ9K2G3MA44GTM9NHB2HW1

Molly spread the birthday invitation across the kitchen table. A smiling dinosaur wore a party hat and clutched a balloon in each tiny hand. Bill regarded it as though it were a photograph of an armed guard. “Two o’clock,” Molly said. “The presents go on the dining-room table. We enter at two fifteen, when the children are distracted by the magician.” “You’re certain he’s a magician?” “The invitation says ‘Magic Dave.’” “Could be ironic. My uncle was called Skinny Pete, and he needed two bus seats.” Molly drew a rectangle on a napkin and labeled it HOUSE. Bill leaned closer, knocking over the sugar bowl. She added a second rectangle and labeled it BILL’S ELBOW. “The front door is our point of entry,” she said. “We’ll wear party hats and carry a large empty gift bag.” “Won’t an empty gift bag look suspicious?” “Not if you put tissue paper on top.” “That’s brilliant. It’s like a disguise for the bag.” “Exactly.” “Should we put a disguise on the tissue paper?” “No.” Bill considered this, then wrote TISSUE WIG? in his notebook and circled it. Outside, rain ticked against the window. Molly had spent three nights studying the family’s social media, which mostly consisted of photographs of a dachshund in seasonal clothing. She had learned the dog’s name, the parents’ names, and the precise location of the dining room. “The dog is called Pickles,” she said. “If he barks, you offer him a biscuit.” “What if he wants two?” “Give him two.” “What if he wants three?” “Bill.” “I’m establishing our maximum biscuit expenditure.” “Fine. Three.” Bill added DOG BUDGET to his notebook. Beneath it he wrote THREE BISCUITS, underlined it, and drew a tiny padlock. Molly waited while he admired his work. “Once we’re inside,” she said, “we fill the bag and leave through the back gate.” “How many presents are we talking?” “The invitation went to twelve families.” “That could be twelve presents.” “Yes.” “Or twenty-four, if they’ve got generous grandparents.” “Yes.” “Or one enormous present from everybody, like a pony.” “There won’t be a pony on the dining-room table.” “Not with that attitude.” Molly folded the napkin and tucked it into her coat. Bill picked up the invitation, squinting at the address. His expression changed from professional concern to something closer to indigestion. “Hang on,” he said. “Isn’t this your sister’s house?” “Yes.” “And isn’t the birthday boy your nephew?” “Yes.” “And didn’t you tell me he’d invited you?” “He invited both of us.” Bill looked at the empty gift bag. Molly looked at the ceiling. A drop of rain found its way through the window frame and landed on Bill’s notebook. “So why are we stealing his presents?” he asked. “Because I forgot to buy one.” “We could buy one now.” “The party’s tomorrow. Everything good will be gone.” “We could give him money.” “He’s six. He’d eat it.” Bill thought for a moment. Then he pushed the invitation back across the table and closed his notebook. “What if we give him the presents we steal?” “That’s just attending the party.” “Right. But we’ll know how difficult it was.”