The balloons bobbed lazily above the backyard like overinflated sentinels, their pastel colors clashing with the grim determination in Molly’s eyes. She adjusted her glittery party hat—*disguise*, she called it—and nudged Bill with her elbow. "You’re sure the kid’s parents won’t be back early? I’d rather not explain to a PTA mom why I’m stuffing her daughter’s My Little Pony into a duffel bag." Bill wiped a smear of frosting from his chin—he’d already "tested" the cake—and shrugged. "Relax. The invite said *‘until the sugar crash hits*.* That’s code for *‘we’ll be passed out by 8:30*.* Besides, I distracted the babysitter with a fake emergency about her *‘award-winning goldfish*.* She’s probably halfway to the pet store by now." Molly side-eyed him. "You told her *Goldie* won a ribbon?" "Yeah, for *‘Most Likely to Survive a Heist*.* Worked like a charm." He grinned, then frowned at the piñata shaped like a unicorn. "You think we should smash that? For the kids? You know, *‘leave a little magic behind*?" She grabbed his arm and yanked him toward the present table. "We are *not* here to be the Grinch. We’re here to be *efficient*. Now help me pry open this *‘to the world’s best big sister’* box before I start questioning my life choices." Bill sighed, pulling a crowbar from his fanny pack. "Fine. But if we find a *‘Build Your Own Unicorn* kit, I’m keeping it. Call it hazard pay."