Molly peered through the binoculars, adjusting the focus. "Are you absolutely sure this is it, Bill?" "It's the address on the invite, isn't it?" Bill gestured vaguely with a half-eaten doughnut, crumbs scattering on his vintage track jacket. "Says 'Princess Penelope's Palatial Pink Party Palace.' Sounds about right for a five-year-old." "Doesn't exactly scream 'trove of easily fenced goods,' does it?" Molly grimaced. From their vantage point in a suspiciously parked ice cream truck, they had a perfect view of a suburban house positively suffocating in pink bunting and inflatable unicorns. A steady stream of minivans disgorged small, brightly dressed children, each clutch of tiny hands holding a meticulously wrapped gift. Bill chewed thoughtfully. "Look, we verified the target. Dr. Aris Thorne. That's a high-roller, right? The kind of guy who buys his kid a solid gold pony when a regular pony would do." "Or a regular pony made of solid gold," Molly countered, lowering the binoculars. "Still, children's parties, Bill. It's a bit… low." "Low, high, what's it matter? A gift is a gift. Think of it as a starter kit. We nab these, fence 'em quick, then we've got the seed money for that offshore account we’ve been talking about." He winked, a crinkly, well-practiced wink. Molly sighed. "And the security? You said Thorne was paranoid." "Oh, he is. Very. But not about a bunch of five-year-olds. We're exploiting a blind spot. The greatest security measure is usually underestimation." Bill puffed out his chest. "We'll be like ghosts. Poof! Presents gone. Nobody even knows we were there." "Except for the very confused five-year-olds when they discover their new drone is actually a novelty rubber chicken," Molly muttered. "Details, details," Bill waved a dismissive hand. "So, here's the plan. I distract the adults. You sweep the present table. Simple." "Distract them how?" Molly raised an eyebrow, picturing Bill attempting to engage a group of parents in polite conversation. The last time he tried to blend in at a high-society event, he'd accidentally started a bidding war over a coat rack. "I have my ways. Maybe I'll offer to do some magic tricks. I’ve been practicing the disappearing coin." He waggled his fingers. Molly stared at him. "Your disappearing coin, Bill, usually involves you accidentally swallowing it." "Improved technique!" Bill insisted, pulling a rather sticky quarter from behind Molly's ear. "See? Flawless." Molly swatted it away. "Right. And what about the kids? They're practically a swarm of tiny, sugar-fueled sentinels. One wrong move, and we'll have a playground riot on our hands." "We’ll blend. That's the key. Think about it. Everyone expects a certain level of… chaos at a kid's party. We'll be part of the chaos." Bill grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I'll go in as a balloon animal artist. Nothing screams 'harmless' like a man with a pump and a bag full of latex." Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. "You can't make balloon animals." "A minor impediment! I'll wing it! Worst case, I make an avant-garde balloon sculpture that distracts them even more. You, on the other hand, my dear, will be the… well, the silent, efficient present pirate." "Present pirate," Molly repeated, tasting the words. "I already feel dirty." "It's for a good cause! Our good cause!" Bill clapped his hands together. "Alright, let's roll. Operation Unicorn Heist, commence!" Molly shook her head, but a tiny, unwilling smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Stealing from a children’s party. This was truly a new low. Or, as Bill would put it, a daring new venture. Either way, it was going to be memorable. She grabbed her own bag, pulling out a pair of oversized, sparkly sunglasses. "Fine. But if I get apprehended by a mob of toddlers, I'm blaming you."