The ballroom of the Grand Marquee Hotel was a minefield of glitter, balloons, and the kind of sugary chaos that made Molly’s teeth ache just by looking at it. She crouched behind a towering ice sculpture of a unicorn—because of *course* the birthday girl’s parents had gone full mythical-creature extravaganza—adjusting the strap of her fanny pack. Inside, her lockpicks rattled like nervous teeth. Bill, meanwhile, was attempting to blend in by wearing a clown nose and holding a half-eaten cupcake like it was a sacred relic. He took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and said, *"You ever notice how kids’ parties are just heists in disguise? All the loot’s right there, wrapped in shiny paper, begging to be liberated."* Molly shot him a look that could curdle milk. *"We’re not liberating anything. We’re stealing presents from a seven-year-old. That’s not Robin Hood, that’s just sad."* She nodded toward the gift table, a mountain of boxes topped with a suspiciously lopsided piñata shaped like a dinosaur. *"Also, that piñata’s got ‘booby trap’ written all over it. I bet it’s rigged to dump confetti *and* call the cops."* Bill licked frosting off his thumb. *"Nah, that’s just your cynicism talking. Confetti’s a distraction. Classic misdirection."* He grinned, then immediately choked as a toddler in a superhero cape body-slammed into his legs. *"Or,"* he wheezed, *"it’s just a room full of tiny, unhinged criminals."* Molly sighed, pulling a stun gun from her sock. *"Alright, new plan. We wait for the piñata smash, then—"* A shriek cut her off as the dinosaur exploded in a rainbow blast, sending a hundred screaming children into a frenzy. Bill, now wearing a face full of glitter, whispered, *"…or we just walk out the front door while no one’s looking."*