Molly sprawled across the dusty-pink couch, surrounded by crumpled fast food wrappers and discarded party hats. Bill, lounging in the armchair opposite, rubbed the stubble on his chin, eyes fixed on the surveillance footage playing on the TV. The camera was embedded in a pinata, giving them a bird's-eye view of the chaotic birthday bash. "Okay, so we've got approximately twenty-seven sugared-up minors and five frazzled adults," Bill said, pausing the tape. "Our window of opportunity is during the cake cutting, when everyone's distracted by the screaming and the potential for a child to face-plant into the frosting." Molly nodded, her ponytail bobbing behind her. "I'll take the gift table. You grab the loot stashed in the coat closet. We meet back at the getaway Stroller in three minutes, tops." Bill raised an eyebrow. "You know we're stealing from kids, right?" Molly shrugged. "Hey, it's not like we're selling them to a corrupt orphanage. We're just...redistributing the joy. And by 'redistributing,' I mean selling it on the black market for a tidy profit." Bill snorted. "You're a real humanitarian, Mols." Molly flashed a sugary smile. "Hey, someone's gotta keep the art of thievery classy."