Molly drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, staring at the bounce house billowing in the afternoon breeze. The party hadn't started yet, but the decorations were already up – streamers, balloons, and a massive banner that read "Happy 8th Birthday, Madison!" "I don't know about this, Bill," she said, watching her partner fidget with his fake pizza delivery uniform. "Stealing from kids feels... wrong." Bill adjusted his mustache in the visor mirror. "Look, we've been over this. Rich kids, rich parents. That pile of presents in there is worth more than my car." "You drive a '97 Corolla with no hubcaps." "Exactly my point." Bill squinted at the growing collection of wrapped boxes by the back door. "Besides, these suburban brats need to learn about disappointment sometime." Molly sighed, checking her watch. The catering staff had started arriving, providing their perfect cover. "Just remember the plan. I go in first as the face painter, you follow ten minutes later with the 'pizza delivery.' We case the inside, wait for the chaos of the party to start, then smuggle out the goods during the magician's show." "Speaking of magic," Bill grinned, pulling out a small smoke bomb from his pocket. "Got our disappearing act right here." "Put that away before you set off the car's smoke detector." Molly grabbed her face-painting kit from the backseat. "And try not to talk to any of the kids. Last time you tried to blend in at a children's event, you asked a six-year-old for stock market advice." "Hey, that kid had some solid insights about Nintendo." Molly rolled her eyes and checked her reflection, adjusting the rainbow wig she'd bought from the party supply store. "If we get caught, I'm telling the cops this was your idea." "It was my idea." "Just making sure we're clear on that." She reached for the door handle, then paused. "Bill?" "Yeah?" "Promise me we're not taking any of the homemade presents. Just the expensive stuff." Bill's expression softened. "Course not. We're thieves, not monsters." He pulled out his phone to check the time. "Now get going. You've got fifteen unicorns and twenty butterflies to paint before we can start the real show." Molly stepped out of the car, her kit in hand, and straightened her colorful smock. As she walked toward the house, she could hear Bill muttering behind her. "Can't believe I'm about to rob a bunch of sugar-fueled tiny humans. This better be worth it." She looked back over her shoulder. "Just remember – if anyone asks, we don't know each other." "Right. Complete strangers. Never met. Though I still think we should have gone with the clown disguises." "We've been over this," Molly hissed. "No clowns. Ever." She plastered on her best face-painter smile and headed for the front door, already wondering how she'd explain this one to her therapist next week.