The backseat of Bill’s stolen minivan smelled like stale gummy worms and regret, which, given their current line of work, was practically a cologne. Molly adjusted the oversized clown nose she’d duct-taped to her face and squinted at the inflatable bounce house across the street. It wobbled ominously in the breeze, like a jellyfish that had just realized it was out of its depth. “You’re sure this is the place?” Molly asked, poking Bill’s shoulder with a gloved finger. “Because if we’re about to rob a *baptism*, I swear to god, Bill, I’m throwing you into that bounce castle and letting the kids have their way with you.” Bill didn’t look up from the blueprint he’d “borrowed” from the party planner’s office—along with her lunch, her stapler, and, inexplicably, a single crochet hook. “Positive. It’s a *‘Magical Unicorn Extravaganza’* for some tech bro’s kid. Presents are *stacked*, Mol. We’re talking iPads, LEGO sets that cost more than my rent, and—get this—a *limited-edition Baby Yoda action figure* that some poor sap paid eight hundred bucks for on the dark web.” Molly whistled. “Damn. And here I thought *we* were the criminals.” “Focus,” Bill said, tapping the blueprint. “Security’s light—just a rent-a-cop who looks like he’d rather be napping in a ball pit. But the presents are in the *‘Enchanted Treasure Room’*—” “Which is just a closet with a glitter bomb taped to the door,” Molly finished, nodding. “I *love* when rich people think they’re being clever.” Bill grinned. “Exactly. So here’s the play: You go in as *‘Party Princess Parfait’*—” Molly groaned. “Oh, come *on*. I drew the line at the clown nose.” “—and distract the kids with *‘interactive storytelling’* while I slip in, grab the loot, and meet you at the van. Easy.” Molly side-eyed him. “And how, pray tell, am I supposed to *‘interactive storytime’* my way past a room full of sugar-high six-year-olds?” Bill reached into his jacket and pulled out a crumpled flyer. “Behold: *‘The Tale of Sir Waffles the Brave’*—a *‘whimsical adventure’* about a pancake who fights a dragon made of syrup.” He cleared his throat. “‘*But lo! The dragon’s weakness was… sparkly stickers!*’” Molly stared. “You wrote this.” “I *may* have cobbled it together from a McDonald’s kids’ meal toy and a Wikipedia page,” Bill admitted. “But it’s *gold*, Mol. Kids *live* for this stuff.” Molly pinched the bridge of her nose. “I can’t believe I’m about to commit felony theft while dressed as a *waffle knight*.” “Think of it as method acting,” Bill said, clapping her on the back. “Now, remember—if anyone asks, you’re *‘auntie’s special friend from the party planning company’*.” “And if they ask for *‘auntie’*?” Bill hesitated. “…Run.” Molly sighed, shoving open the van door. “I hate my life.” The backyard was a minefield of tiny humans in tutus and superhero capes, their shrieks piercing the air like a banshee choir. Molly adjusted her tinfoil crown (because *of course* Bill had insisted on a crown) and marched toward the bounce house, where a cluster of kids were engaged in what looked like either a dance-off or a ritual sacrifice. “Alright, munchkins!” she bellowed, clapping her hands. “Who’s ready to hear about *Sir Waffles the Brave*?” A hush fell over the crowd. A kid in a dinosaur onesie raised his hand. “Is there *blood*?” Molly blinked. “Uh. *Syrup blood.*” The kid nodded solemnly. “Cool.” Behind her, Bill—now disguised as a *‘party entertainer’* (which, in his case, meant a sequined vest and a name tag that read *‘Dave’*)—slipped toward the “Enchanted Treasure Room.” Molly caught his eye as he fiddled with the doorknob. “You better *not* take the Baby Yoda,” she mouthed. Bill gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. Then he winked and vanished inside. Molly turned back to her audience, who were now staring at her with the intensity of a jury considering a life sentence. She took a deep breath. “So… *Sir Waffles* was just a regular waffle—” “WAFFLES AREN’T *ALIVE*,” a kid in a unicorn horn yelled. Molly’s smile didn’t waver. “Not *yet*,” she said darkly. “But after *this* story? You’ll *never* look at breakfast the same way again.”