Molly tapped a manicured fingernail against a picture of a bouncy castle, a frown scrunching her nose. "Are you sure about this, Bill? Stealing from toddlers? It feels… wrong." Bill, crammed into a too-small clown costume, stuffed a fistful of rainbow sprinkles into his mouth. "Don't be a party pooper, Molly. Think of the loot! Imagine, a whole mountain of plastic dinosaurs, princess tiaras, and enough sugar to fuel a rocket to the moon. We'll be rich!" "But what about the kids’ faces? Their tiny, innocent, tear-stained faces when they realize their fluffernutter unicorn is gone?" "They'll forget. Besides, think of it as redistribution of wealth. From entitled tots to sophisticated thieves. It's practically Robin Hood, but with less tights and more glitter." Molly chewed on her lip, eyeing the photo of a chubby four-year-old clutching a stuffed dragon. "Fine. But if we see a single sniffle, we’re out of there, sparkle swords and all." Bill, mid-confetti-toss, gave her a thumbs up. "You got it, Molls. Operation Sugar Rush is a go!"