Bill peered through a pair of binoculars that looked like they'd been rescued from a museum's garbage heap. “I count sixteen children, two face-painting clowns, and an elderly woman who hasn’t moved for twenty minutes. Red team’s on high alert.” Molly flipped open her battered notebook, thumb skimming a page labeled ‘Operation: Gift Grab Galore.’ “You realize the elderly woman’s the birthday girl’s grandma?” Molly asked, arching an eyebrow. “She’s guarding the present table, tactical knitting and all.” “All the more reason to keep our distance. You see the scarf she’s working on? That’s not a scarf. That’s an early warning system. You trip that, we’re toast.” “Bill, stop being dramatic. Last time you said ‘hostile territory,’ we ended up stealing carrot sticks from a vegan playgroup.” Bill snapped the binoculars shut and wiped imaginary sweat from his brow. “Carrot sticks are significantly less valuable than the loot on that table.” Molly squinted at the pile of boxes, wrapped in glitter and crammed beneath an archway of balloons. “You’re sure about the intel? I’m not getting stuck in a bounce castle for a Barbie coloring book. Again.” Bill passed her the guest list, pilfered from a Facebook event page. “Look—action figures. Remote-control cars. There’s a LEGO Millennium Falcon in there. Value: high. Risk: moderate. Cake: chocolate.” “Fine. Entry plan?” Molly asked, sliding the notebook back into the cavernous depths of her messenger bag. He grinned, revealing three teeth too many. “We blend in. I’ve got the hats, I’ve got the noise-makers, and you’ll be pleased to know I even brought a spare party horn.” Molly stared at the crumpled party hats he produced from his jacket. “They’re dinosaur-themed,” she said. “The element of disguise! Now, we mingle. You take Kid Zone East—I’ll handle Clown Watch. At exactly three-fifteen, chaos breaks loose: magician arrives, everyone runs in for the rabbit-in-hat moment. That’s our window.” She smirked, adjusting her own hat until the stegosaurus spikes were at a suitably rakish angle. “You ever think of just buying gifts for yourself?” “With this face?” Bill said, gesturing at himself. “Shopkeepers hate me. Dogs hate me. Children—well, we’re about to find out.” Molly slid her gloved fingers through the fence slats. “What about the presents? Won’t they notice if two full-grown adults leave with armfuls of gift-wrapped contraband?” “No, because we won’t leave with them all at once. We’ll cycle gifts to the tool shed at the back—safe, dry, and unguarded in plain sight. Then, at the signal—” “Which is?” Bill blew the party horn, a warbling honk that nearly startled a pigeon off the fence. “That.” “Subtle,” Molly muttered. He nudged her toward the gate, where the party roared with sugar-fueled chaos. “Besides, who’s going to suspect two delightful, dinosaur-hatted volunteer birthday helpers?” Molly cackled. “You mean two adults who can’t tell a Spinosaurus from a Triceratops?” “Don’t let them see your fear,” Bill said. “And if one of the clowns corners you, just do what I do—pretend you’re deeply, deeply allergic to balloon animals.” She tilted her chin, grinning. “Ready for mayhem?” “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Bill replied. Together, they strode through the crepe paper arch, two thieves disguised as party guests, intent on pulling off the most ridiculous birthday heist the neighborhood had ever seen.