Bill adjusted the focus on the heavy binoculars. The suburban lawn before them was a chaotic minefield of sensory overload, featuring a bouncy castle shaped like a medieval dragon and enough pastel streamers to choke a horse. The sun beat down relentlessly on the unmarked van, turning the interior into a sauna. He wiped a bead of nervous sweat from his forehead. This wasn’t a bank vault or a diamond exchange; this was far more dangerous. It was a fortress of childhood innocence guarded by the most erratic creatures on earth: five-year-olds hopped up on sugar. "Target is confirmed," Bill whispered, lowering the lenses with a shaky hand. "Timmy’s fifth birthday. Security is tight." Molly, currently sharpening a pocketknife with a neon-pink nail file, didn't look up. She was dressed in a tactical black turtleneck, despite the heat radiating through the dashboard. She looked like a cat burglar who had taken a wrong turn into a daycare center. "How tight?" she asked, her voice cool. "Armed response or just the inflatable dinosaur?" "The dinosaur is stationary, but the clown is active," Bill warned, watching the red-nosed man twist a balloon into a sword. "He’s making balloon animals. If he ties us up, we’re done for." Molly sighed, finally looking up to assess the perimeter. She studied the crude map drawn on the back of a greasy Denny's placemat. The logistics of stealing from a kindergartner were complicated by the sheer unpredictability of the guests. "We go in through the back gate," she decided, tracing a line with a manicured fingernail. "The adults are distracted by the gluten-free cake discussion. That’s our window. Move on my signal." "What about the presents?" Bill asked, gesturing toward the wrapped boxes near the glass door. "There’s a lot of Barbies. Hot property." "We focus on the high-value items," Molly commanded, sliding the knife into her boot. "Lego sets, electronics, and that giant red tricycle. Leave the socks." "The tricycle has a streamer basket," Bill noted with apprehension. "Hard to fit in the bag." "Make it fit. We aren't leaving without the wheels." Outside, children screamed with high-pitched delight, a sound that made Bill flinch. He checked the duffel bag, empty and waiting for the spoils of their war. It felt wrong, stealing joy from a child, but rent was due and the black market for unopened toys was booming. "I’ve got the smoke bombs," Bill said, patting his pocket to ensure the devices were secure. "And the juice box walkie-talkies." "Good. Remember the code word," Molly said, checking her tranquilizer gun. "If anyone spots us, don't run. Start crying." "Crying?" "Like a toddler," she hissed, narrowing her eyes. "Full meltdown. Drop to the floor and scream for candy. No one suspects a criminal who wants a lollipop. It’s the perfect camouflage." Bill nodded, steeling himself for the most difficult job of his career. "Let's go ruin a birthday."