The air in the van smelled of stale crisps and desperation. Molly jabbed a finger at the map spread across a greasy pizza box on her lap. It was less a blueprint and more a child’s drawing, rendered in thick crayon with a flagrant disregard for scale. A massive yellow sun with a smiley face occupied one corner. “The primary entry point is here,” she declared, her finger tapping a wobbly rectangle labelled ‘Bouncy Castel’. Bill slumped further into the passenger seat, the springs groaning in protest. He squinted at the drawing, a masterpiece of suburban chaos. “You want us to go in through the Bouncy Castle?” “It's the perfect Trojan Horse, Bill. A symbol of joy and distracted parents. No one suspects the Bouncy Castle.” Molly’s eyes glinted with the kind of fervour usually reserved for cracking a bank vault, not infiltrating Brayden’s Sixth Birthday Bash. She slid a blurry photograph across the box. It showed a small man with a pained expression twisting a pink balloon into something vaguely resembling a dachshund. “My cover is 'Billy the Balloon Bender'? You're joking.” “Deadly serious,” Molly said, ignoring his despair. “Your job is to herd the children towards the back garden with the promise of a legendary 'Mega-Snake'.” “I don't know how to make a Mega-Snake! I can barely manage a worm.” “Just tie a knot in a long one.” She dismissed his concerns with a wave. “While you're wrangling the sugar-crazed mob, I'll slip in. The target is a centralized pile they're calling 'Gift Mountain'.” Her finger moved to a crudely drawn pyramid in the area marked ‘Lounge’. Bill ran a hand over his tired face. “Gift Mountain? Molly, what are we even looking for? A new-release tricycle? A limited-edition talking pony?” “We're looking for volume, Bill. Volume and wrapping paper that suggests a high price point. Think electronics, not educational wooden blocks.” She was all business, tracing the exfiltration route with a red crayon. Out the patio doors, behind the shed filled with pool noodles, and through a gap in the fence. The entire operation was timed to coincide with the magician’s finale, a twenty-minute window of peak distraction. The plan was, on paper, almost plausible. If you ignored the fact that the entire security detail consisted of parents filming on their phones and a golden retriever that was afraid of its own shadow. “Fine,” Bill sighed, the fight draining out of him. He picked a piece of pepperoni off the map. “But you know there's going to be cake, right? What if we miss the cake?” Molly looked at him, her expression a flat mask of professional focus. “We are not here for the cake, Bill.”