Molly crouched behind a technicolor bush shaped like a dinosaur, twirling her lockpick like a drum major’s baton. Bill peered over the hedge, a pair of plastic spy binoculars pressed to his face, looking more like a kid about to ask for cake than a career criminal. “See the clown yet?” she whispered, grimacing as a cluster of helium balloons floated too close. “Negative,” Bill replied. “But I count five grown-ups and a suspiciously agile grandmother.” “The one with the unibrow?” Molly elbowed him, glancing through a gap in the foliage. “No, not uni—look, focus. Presents are on the folding table by the bounce house. It’s chaos down there. Pure horde.” Molly’s eyes locked on the gaudy mountain of gift bags, each wrapped with enough sparkle to blind a parade. “Alright, Plan B?” she asked, a mischievous grin forming. Bill nodded. “I start a cupcake melee. You grab the loot during the frosting fracas.” “Best idea you’ve had all year.” He cracked his knuckles and straightened his ninja turtle mask, blending seamlessly with the crowd of sticky-fingered partygoers. “Ready?” “Let’s steal some birthdays,” she whispered, suppressing a wicked laugh as they slithered toward pandemonium.