Molly adjusted her glittery party hat and leaned against the bakery’s display case, eyeing the inflatable unicorn tied to the lamppost outside. "You ever notice how kids’ parties are just unguarded treasure troves? It’s like they *want* us to rob them." Bill, currently stuffing a whoopee cushion into his fanny pack, glanced up. "Molls, we’re not Robin Hood. We’re not redistributing wealth. We’re stealing a bunch of My Little Ponies and a Lego Death Star." "Details." She waved a hand. "The point is, security’s nonexistent. No metal detectors, no bouncers, not even a *chaperone* who isn’t distracted by a sugar coma. It’s the perfect crime." "Unless we get caught by a six-year-old with a juice box and a moral compass," Bill muttered, zipping his pack. "You ever been interrogated by a kid? They don’t even *blink*. It’s like they’ve got built-in lie detectors." Molly scoffed. "Please. I’ve got a foolproof cover. I’m Auntie Molly, here to *supervise* the piñata. Who’s gonna suspect the lady handing out candy?" "Uh, the *actual* aunt who’s already there?" Bill pointed through the window at a woman in a "World’s Best Aunt" sweatshirt, currently arm-wrestling a toddler for the last cupcake. Molly squinted. "Huh. Okay, new plan. We tell the kids we’re *magicians* here to make the presents *disappear*." Bill groaned. "That’s not how magic works." "Since when do you care about *rules*?" She grinned, tossing him a bag of confetti. "Now help me fill these balloons with *distraction*."