Molly adjusted her tactical harness, ensuring the carabiner clips didn't jingle against the cheap plastic tiara perched on her head. The backyard fence of the Henderson residence loomed before them, festooned with pastel balloons that swayed in the breeze like sentinels guarding a sugar-fueled fortress. Inside, the high-pitched squeals of seven-year-olds reached frequencies that could shatter glass or, at minimum, a seasoned burglar's concentration. The scent of burnt hot dogs and sugar wafted over the cedar planks, mixing with the distinct aroma of impending parental regret and cheap sunscreen. Bill crouched beside her, sweat darkening the collar of his dinosaur onesie. He'd insisted on the costume for "blending in," though at six-foot-two with a neck tattoo peeking above the T-Rex neckline, he looked less like a party guest and more like a felony in progress. His tail kept snagging on the rose bushes, tearing polyester scales with every shift of his weight. He smelled like vinyl and poor decisions. "Remind me why we're not hitting the jewelry store on Fifth?" Bill whispered, extracting thorns from his knee. "Seems less dangerous than whatever this is." Molly pulled out her tablet, displaying a thermal imaging overlay of the backyard. "Because little Timmy's parents are Russian oligarchs who launder money through plastic tractors. The 'presents' are actually bearer bonds wrapped in Spider-Man paper. Plus, security is a clown and a bounce house." Bill stared at the piñata—an enormous glittering unicorn suspended from a reinforced steel cable. "That's military-grade hardware. For a children's toy?" "Exactly. Nobody looks at the clown." She pointed toward the entertainment area, where a man in greasepaint was attempting to twist a balloon giraffe while fending off a sticky-fingered assault from the birthday boy. "Phase one: you create a diversion near the cake table. Phase two: I rappel from the oak tree, bypass the piñata, and extract the package while they're distracted." "When I give the signal—" Molly continued. "The what?" Molly made a sound like a dying teakettle mixed with a kazoo. Bill recoiled, his tail ripping completely free. "That's your signal? Half the neighborhood will hear that disaster." "It'll blend with the party noise. Trust me." She checked her watch. "Cake cutting in three minutes. That's our window. Move out." Bill lumbered toward the fence gate, his truncated tail dragging through a mud puddle. Molly scaled the oak with practiced efficiency, her harness clicking against the bark. From her vantage point, she watched Bill execute the diversion by "accidentally" face-planting into the fondant unicorn cake, sending frosting flying into the face of a startled grandmother. The clown turned. The parents turned. Every sticky child turned toward the commotion. Molly deployed her line, zipping down toward the gift table with her suction cup boots aimed at the target. She landed silently beside a stack of presents wrapped in iridescent paper, her lockpick already in hand. From the ground, Bill spat out buttercream and gave her a thumbs-up while a child tried to climb his back. She opened the largest box. It contained a bicycle. An actual bicycle with training wheels and a bell shaped like a duck. Molly looked down at Bill, who was currently being licked by a Labrador dressed as a superhero. "Wrong party," she hissed into her comms. "Next door. The one with the actual bouncy castle." Bill wiped frosting from his eyes. "I thought the dinosaur was subtle." "It worked at the zoo," Bill muttered. "Move! Now!"