The alley behind Bouncy Castle Palace smelled of popped balloons and regret. Molly crouched behind a dumpster, sketching a map in the dirt with a gloved finger. Bill, meanwhile, was trying to fit a party hat on his head without crushing his dignity. “This is the worst heist yet,” Bill said. “We’re stealing toys from toddlers. Even raccoons have more self-respect.” Molly didn’t look up. “It’s not toys. It’s *valuables*. Look at this list. Remote-control llama? That’s limited edition. Glitter unicorn piñata filled with gift cards? Jackpot. And don’t get me started on the cake—it’s triple-tiered with fondant dinosaurs.” “Kids will cry,” Bill said. “Kids cry when they drop ice cream. They’ll get over it. Besides, we’re not monsters. We’ll leave the juice boxes.” “That’s generous. Truly.” Molly finally looked at him. “You signed the heist oath, Bill. ‘From strollers, we gather. To vaults, we scatter.’ Remember?” “I thought that was about shopping carts at Walmart!” “You asked for excitement. You wanted danger. This is our niche!” “Our niche is supposed to be high-end jewelry, Molly. Not snack packs with googly eyes.” “This is evolution,” Molly insisted. “Think about it—no security, zero surveillance, and the only guard dog is a three-year-old named Timmy with a stuffed T-Rex.” “That Timmy threw a tantrum so intense last week the fire department came.” “Exactly. He’s our psychological shield. No adult wants to engage during a full meltdown.” Bill sighed and adjusted the party hat. “So what’s the plan? I’m already questioning my life choices, but let’s hear it.” Molly tapped her dirt map. “We pose as entertainers. You’re ‘Clown Ron,’ I’m ‘Magician Molly.’ We arrive fifteen minutes after the piñata round—distraction peak. Kids are sugar-crashed, parents are distracted by spilled punch, and the presents are unattended near the gift table.” “How do you know all this?” “I volunteered at my nephew’s birthday. Gained intel. Also, I still have nightmares about the parachute game.” “So we perform, then steal?” “While performing. I’ll do sleight-of-hand—*actual* sleight-of-hand. While I ‘pull a bunny from my hat,’ I’m really pulling gift cards from the piñata. You toss confetti—it’s actually a smoke screen. Then we load the loot into the stroller.” “The stroller?” “It folds flat, has all-terrain wheels, and looks innocent. Also, it’s pink. No one suspects the pink.” Bill rubbed his temples. “And when they notice the presents are gone?” “We’re already at the getaway bouncy house.” “There’s not a getaway bouncy house.” “There will be.” “This is insane.” Molly grinned. “Insane? Or *brilliantly* chaotic?” “I’m leaning toward court-ordered therapy.” “You’ll thank me when we’re sipping margaritas in Belize, funded entirely by Build-A-Bear gift vouchers.” Bill stared at the party hat in his hands. “Do I at least get to keep this?” Molly shrugged. “Only if you commit. And if you honk the nose *on cue*.” Bill sighed. “Honk the nose, steal from children, risk federal charges for a glow-in-the-dark yo-yo. This is my life now.” “Welcome to the team,” Molly said, handing him a tiny pair of clown shoes. “Now put these on. And try not to scream.”