The backroom of *Sugarplum’s Sweet Shoppe* smelled like stale cotton candy and regret, which, Molly decided, was just the right ambiance for planning a heist. She kicked her boots up onto the wobbly card table, sending a stack of napkins fluttered to the floor. Bill didn’t even glance up from the blueprint he’d stolen from the party planner’s office—probably because he was too busy tracing the layout with a highlighter the color of radioactive lime. “You’re gonna blind yourself with that thing,” Molly said, squinting at the neon streak. “Also, since when do you highlight?” Bill didn’t look up. “Since I realized you can’t tell a sprinkle dispenser from a fire extinguisher.” “That was *one time*.” “It was *three times*, and the last one was *yesterday*.” Molly waved a hand. “Details. The point is, we’re breaking into a *kids’ party*. How hard can it be? They’ll be too busy stuffing their faces with cupcakes to notice us.” Bill finally set down the highlighter and fixed her with a look that suggested he was reconsidering his life choices. “Molly, the party is at the *Mansion on the Hill*. You know, the one with the security system that cost more than your last three getaway cars *combined*?” She grinned. “Exactly. Who’s gonna suspect *us*? We’ll blend right in.” “You’re wearing a leather jacket with *‘I Punch Clowns’* embroidered on the back.” “It’s *ironic*.” “It’s a *red flag*.” Molly leaned forward, resting her chin on her fist. “Fine. What’s your brilliant plan, then? Sneak in through the vents like some kind of… I don’t know, *vent-sneaker*?” Bill sighed, rubbing his temples like he was trying to erase the memory of every bad decision that led him to this moment. “No. We go in through the front door.” Molly blinked. “That’s it?” “That’s it.” “That’s the *worst* plan I’ve ever heard.” “It’s *genius*.” Bill tapped the blueprint. “The mansion’s security is top-tier, but the party planner’s a cheapskate. She booked the *‘Balloon Bonanza’* package, which means the only guards are the two rent-a-cops by the gate—and they’re more concerned with making sure no kid drowns in the ball pit than stopping a pair of *highly skilled professionals*.” Molly considered this. “So we just… walk in?” “Exactly. We dress like parents. Act like we belong. Grab the presents, and *bam*—we’re out before the piñata even hits the ground.” She narrowed her eyes. “What if someone asks who we are?” Bill reached into his jacket and pulled out two laminated badges. “We’re *Uncle Dave* and *Aunt Karen*. Distant relatives. Very *eccentric*.” Molly took the badge, squinting at the blurry photo of a man who looked suspiciously like a disgruntled librarian. “This is *you*?” “It’s *close enough*.” She tossed it back. “No way. I’m not calling you *Uncle Dave*.” “Then what do you suggest?” Molly grinned. “We go as *the entertainment*.” Bill groaned. “Oh no.” “Oh yes. We’re *Magical Molly and her Amazing Assistant, Bill*.” “Absolutely not.” “Come on! We do a *little* magic, distract the kids, and while they’re all oohing and aahing over my *spectacular* card tricks—” “You *cheat* at card tricks.” “—you slip into the present room and start loading up the loot.” She clapped her hands. “It’s *perfect*.” Bill stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a deck of cards. “Fine. But if I have to wear a top hat, I’m billing you for therapy.” Molly beamed. “Deal. Now, what’s the signal if things go south?” Bill didn’t hesitate. “We scream *‘PIÑATA EMERGENCY’* and run like hell.” She nodded approvingly. “Now *that’s* a plan I can get behind.”