The backroom of *Big Tony’s Pawn & Donut Emporium* smelled like stale coffee and regret, which was fitting since that’s exactly what Molly was feeling as she stared at the blueprints of *Kiddie Kingdom Playland*—the most secure children’s party venue in the tri-county area. Bill, her partner in crime and the human equivalent of a golden retriever who’d just discovered espresso, was currently attempting to balance a donut on his nose. He failed. The donut landed in his lap, frosting-side down. “You’re getting powdered sugar on the *heist plans*,” Molly said, snatching the blueprints away before the glaze could seep into the structural weaknesses of the ball pit. “Relax, Moll,” Bill said, licking frosting off his thumb. “The ball pit’s not even our main concern. The real challenge is the *piñata*. That thing’s got a motion sensor, a silent alarm, and—get this—*confetti cannons* rigged to blind intruders.” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’re stealing from a *children’s party*, not the Pentagon.” “Exactly! Which is why we need to think like kids. You ever seen a five-year-old case a joint? They’re *ruthless*. Tiny, sticky-fingered anarchists.” “Bill, focus. The presents are in the *gift room*, which is locked, and the only key is around the neck of *Party Princess Pippin*, who, according to your ‘intel,’ is a former child star with a black belt in interpretive dance.” Bill gasped. “You *do* listen to me!” “I listen to you like a hostage listens to a ransom demand. Now, how do we get past the *bouncy castle*?” “Easy. We don’t. We *go through* it.” Molly blinked. “You want to crawl through a bouncy castle.” “Not crawl. *Strategically infiltrate*. Think about it—kids are bouncing in there like popcorn in a microwave. We blend in, grab a balloon animal, and *bam*, we’re in.” “And when we pop out the other side covered in sweat and the scent of artificial cheese, what then? The parents will assume we’re just *really* committed partygoers?” Bill grinned. “Exactly! Parents don’t *look* at kids. They just hand them juice boxes and pray they don’t touch anything. We’ll be invisible.” Molly groaned. “This is the dumbest plan we’ve ever had, and that includes the time you tried to rob a bank by disguising yourself as a *very suspicious* clown.” “Hey, that almost worked!” “You got *pepper-sprayed by a teller*.” “Details.” Bill leaned in, suddenly serious. “Look, Moll, the presents are *right there*. Wrapped in shiny paper, begging to be unwrapped. And not just any presents—*toy store grade* presents. We’re talking remote-control cars, action figures, maybe even a *LeapPad* or two. This isn’t just a heist. It’s a *public service*. We’re redistributing wealth to the *deserving*—namely, us.” Molly sighed, staring at the blueprints again. The gift room was right next to the cake table. If they timed it right, they could cause a distraction—maybe “accidentally” knock over the piñata, trigger the confetti cannons, and in the chaos— “Fine,” she said. “But we’re not wearing the balloon animal costumes.” Bill’s face fell. “But they’re *classic*!” “No.” “Not even the—” “*No.*” Bill sulked. “You’re no fun.” Molly grabbed her lockpicks. “I’m *fun*. I’m just fun in a *non-felony* way.” Bill perked up. “So… we’re doing this?” Molly took a deep breath. “We’re doing this. But if I see so much as a *single* glitter cannon, I’m leaving you in the ball pit.” Bill clapped his hands. “This is gonna be *legendary*.” Molly grabbed her ski mask. “This is gonna be a *disaster*.” Bill grinned. “Same thing.”