The balloons bobbed lazily against the ceiling like overinflated sentinels, their metallic sheen catching the last slivers of afternoon sun. Molly adjusted her glittery party hat—*disguise*, she called it—while Bill fiddled with the zipper on his too-tight clown costume, which had been "borrowed" from a defunct circus. The air smelled like sugar and regret, the kind of scent that clung to childhood memories and bad decisions. "Alright, listen," Molly whispered, nudging a piñata shaped like a unicorn with her toe. "We go in, we charm the tiny humans, we load up the presents, and we’re out before the cake’s even cut. Simple." Bill groaned, his face already sweating under the greasepaint. "You call this simple? I look like a rejected extra from a horror movie about sad clowns." Molly grinned, tossing him a lollipop from her pocket. "Exactly. Distraction tactic. Kids love clowns. Or they’re terrified of them. Either way, they’ll be too busy screaming to notice us stuffing their My Little Pony action figures into our fanny packs." A shriek erupted from the backyard as a toddler face-planted into a cupcake. Bill flinched. "You realize we’re stealing from children, right? That’s a new low, even for us." Molly shrugged, already eyeing the mountain of gifts under the "Happy 6th Birthday, Timmy!" banner. "Kids bounce back. Besides, Timmy’s dad is some tech billionaire. He’ll just Venmo the parents another round of presents by dinner. We’re doing them a favor—teaching them the value of loss." Bill sighed, adjusting his oversized shoes. "Remind me again why we couldn’t just rob a bank like normal people?" "Because banks have security cameras and armed guards," Molly said, patting his shoulder. "This? This is just chaos with sprinkles." She took a deep breath, then plastered on a smile so wide it hurt. "Showtime."