The balloons bobbed lazily above the backyard like overinflated sentinels, their pastel colors clashing with the grim determination in Molly’s eyes. She crouched behind a rhododendron bush, its leaves tickling her nose, and adjusted the strap of her fanny pack—*the fanny pack*—which held enough lockpicks to open a small bank vault. Beside her, Bill fidgeted with the hem of his "World’s Okayest Uncle" T-shirt, a disguise so painfully obvious it might as well have been a neon sign flashing *SUSPICIOUS PERSON HERE.* "Alright, the piñata’s a distraction," Molly whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant shrieks of children and the occasional *pop* of a party popper. "But we’re not here for candy. We’re here for the *good* stuff—the iPads, the LEGO sets, the *limited-edition* action figures that’ll fetch a fortune on the black market." Bill scratched his chin, leaving a smudge of what looked like frosting on his stubble. "You really think a six-year-old’s gonna have an iPad worth stealing?" Molly shot him a look that could curdle milk. "Bill, have you *met* children? Those things are loaded with parental controls, educational apps, and—most importantly—*guilt money* from divorced parents. That’s prime resale material." A gust of wind sent a cluster of balloons drifting toward them. Bill swatted one away, only for it to rebound and bonk him squarely in the forehead. "Okay, new plan," he muttered, rubbing the spot. "We go in, grab the loot, and if anyone asks, we’re the *entertainment*." Molly grinned. "Perfect. Nothing says ‘harmless clown’ like two adults carrying armfuls of stolen toys out the back door." With a deep breath, they stood—just as a tiny voice piped up from behind them. "Hey, mister? Why are you hiding in the bushes?"