The backseat of Bill’s stolen ice cream truck smelled like expired sprinkles and regret. Molly adjusted her clown nose—*the perfect disguise*—while Bill fiddled with a bag of half-melted lollipops. “You’re sure this is the right party?” Molly asked, squinting at the pastel balloons tied to the mailbox. “Because if we rob the wrong six-year-old’s birthday, I’m blaming you.” Bill popped a lollipop into his mouth. “Positive. Kid’s dad is *that* tech guy—you know, the one who invented the app that makes your phone cry when you ignore it? Presents’ll be top-tier. Maybe even a drone.” Molly groaned. “A *drone*? Bill, we’re stealing My Little Pony merch, not joining the CIA.” “Hey, drones are *useful*. We could use it to case future jobs. Or deliver pizzas. Flexible career path.” She snatched the lollipop from his mouth. “Focus. We go in, grab the loot, and get out before the piñata explodes. No talking to the kids, no eating the cake, and *definitely* no letting them draw on you with washable markers again.” Bill rubbed his arm where a permanent “Mr. Bill” was still faintly visible. “Fine. But if I see a *good* piñata, I’m taking it.” Molly sighed. “You’re a menace.” “And you love me.” “Debatable.” She kicked open the truck door. “Let’s go steal some *Barbie Dreamhouse* real estate.”