Molly pressed her nose against the bakery window, eyes fixed on a mountain of pastel cupcakes. “Bill, you see that clown over by the gazebo? The one juggling plastic bowling pins?” Bill, crouched behind a banner that read HAPPY 6TH BIRTHDAY, adjusted his cap. "You mean the one who keeps dropping them on his foot? I think we can take him. Distraction-level: low." She scowled. “We are not taking the clown, Bill. He’s just the warmup act. The real problem is the parent security perimeter.” Bill peeked over the banner. “That’s six moms in yoga pants, eight dads pretending they don’t know what a unicorn is, and a grandma who looks like she could snap a femur with a death glare.” Molly grinned. “And here you thought Bingo night at Shady Pines was dangerous. Focus, Bill! Our target’s the gift table. Pink wrapping paper, rainbows, and—wait, is that a box shaped like a dinosaur?” Bill’s eyes widened. “I call dibs on the dinosaur. What's the plan?” “First,” Molly whispered, tugging a party hat out of her satchel, “we blend in. Nothing says 'I belong here' like glitter and tissue paper.” Bill donned the hat. “Do I look six? Or mildly unhinged?” She smirked. “A bit of both. Now, Operation ‘Piñata Parade’ begins in three minutes. That’s our cue.” Bill glanced at the timer on his watch. “Piñata chaos, kid stampede. It’s almost beautiful.” “Everybody’ll run for the candy cloud, parents included. Presents will be orphaned.” Molly smirked. “I slip under the tablecloth and stuff the goods in my sack, elf-style.” “And me?” Bill asked, palming a rubber duck. “What's my role, O Princess of Pilfering?” “Distraction supreme. I need you to intercept the magician. If he starts pulling doves out of hats, we’re done for. Birds everywhere, feathers, pandemonium!” Bill puffed up. “Should I pretend to be an aspiring magician or challenge him to a card trick duel?” “Be mysterious. Maybe drop hints about a legendary golden rabbit. Magicians can’t resist a challenge.” Bill winked. “On it. Wait—a new threat, three o’clock. Toddler incoming, hands muddied, face sticky. He’s wearing a cape.” Molly groaned. “He’s the wild card. If he gets too close, distract with cupcakes.” Bill produced a pocket cupcake, rainbow sprinkles glistening. “Why do we always end up at kids’ parties, Molly?” She grinned. “Because grown-ups wrap boring presents. And nobody questions a woman in a tutu carrying a sack of loot when there’s a bounce house involved.” Bill eyed her tutu. “I’ll never get all this glitter out of my socks.” Molly rolled her eyes. “Focus. Piñata strike in sixty seconds.” Bill squared his shoulders. “Break a leg.” “No legs broken. Only piñatas.” Molly crouched, ready to pounce. “You remember the code word?” “Balloons-a-go-go,” Bill whispered gleefully. “Good. Now get ready. Once you hear the shouts, we move.” Bill slunk off, cupcake in hand, mumbling, “Here goes nothing.” Molly sighed, poised for action, and watched as a wave of sugar-fueled children charged the piñata. She grinned. “Time to party.”