Molly adjusted her glittery party hat and leaned against the bakery’s display case, eyeing the inflatable castle across the street. "Alright, Bill, we’ve got a problem. The kid’s birthday party is in *two hours*, and we still don’t know how to get past the piñata patrol." Bill wiped frosting off his sleeve from the cupcake he’d just stolen. "Easy. We walk in like we belong. You’re Aunt Molly, I’m Uncle Bill. Classic." "Uncle Bill? You look like a guy who just robbed a bakery." "Because I *did* rob a bakery. Focus. We go in, grab the presents, and bounce before the cake’s cut. Simple." Molly groaned. "And what if someone asks why Uncle Bill’s got a *backpack* at a kids’ party?" Bill patted the bulging bag. "I’ll say it’s full of *more presents*. For *everyone*." "Oh, that’ll go over well when you start shoving Barbies into it." "Look, worst case, we cause a distraction. You trip the clown, I ‘accidentally’ set off the sparkler station—chaos covers our escape." Molly stared. "You want to *burn down a children’s party*?" "Not *burn down*. Just… *liven it up*." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "We are *terrible* people." Bill grinned. "But we’re *good* at this." He tossed her a party horn. "Blow this when we make our move. It’s our signal." Molly sighed and stuffed it in her pocket. "I hate my life."