The alley behind Bouncy Castle Palace reeked of stale cake and existential despair. Molly crouched behind a dumpster shaped like a grinning clown, her black ski mask askew. “You realize we’re stealing from toddlers, right?” Bill adjusted his thermal goggles. “They won’t miss it. Kids get everything. We get nothing. It’s economic balance.” “Economic balance? Bill, one of these gifts is probably a rubber ducky.” “With a *motion sensor*, Molly. High-value target.” “They’re five. The loot is juice boxes and plastic whistles.” “Exactly! No one expects the juice box heist. That’s why it’ll work.” “So we’re stealing glitter stompers and a piñata shaped like a unicorn?” “Unicorns are in demand on the black market. Big money.” “Who buys stolen party favors?” “Other clowns. The underground kind. Less makeup, more warrants.” Molly squinted at the birthday schedule taped to the back door. “Party ends at 4. Parents collapse by 4:15. Clean getaway by 4:30.” “And we’ll be long gone before the macaroni-art theft is even noticed.” “You do realize the cake says ‘Happy 5th, Timmy,’ right?” “So? We’ll rename the operation: ‘Timmy’s Tears.’ Has a ring.” Molly sighed. “I joined this life to rob banks. Not steal Play-Doh.” “Play-Doh’s non-perishable, baby. That’s leverage.” “Fine. But if I get tackled by a sugar-crazed three-year-old, I’m blaming you.” “Deal. Now put the mask back on. You’re ruining our terrifying image.” “But the nose itches.”