Molly adjusted her night vision goggles and frowned at the glitter-covered invitation. "You're telling me we spent three months casing the Fort Knox of toy stores, and now we're hitting a five-year-old's birthday party?" Bill tightened his harness, checking the carabiner clips against his stolen Party City uniform. "The target acquisition matrix changed when I saw the guest list. Tommy Henderson. His dad just became CFO of TechDyne. The kid's getting a limited edition gaming console, prototype VR headset, and according to my inside source—" he tapped his earpiece, "—uncut Pokémon cards." "Your inside source is the babysitter you flirted with at Starbucks." "She has ethics, Molly. She draws the line at Rare Candy." Molly sighed, stuffing rubber chickens into her tactical vest. "I didn't get into this business to terrorize children." "We're not terrorizing anyone. We're professionals. In and out. The clown distraction lasts exactly eight minutes while they sing Happy Birthday. That's our window." "You hired an actual clown?" "Not just any clown. Gary 'The Giggler' Malone. Ex-Navy SEAL, dishonorable discharge, excellent balloon animals." Molly stared at him. "You recruited a SEAL to twist balloon dogs." "To create a perimeter breach while maintaining plausible deniability. Look, the Hendersons have a smart security system, but it has one fatal flaw." "The piñata?" "The piñata," Bill confirmed. "It's a Bluetooth-enabled 'Smart Piñata.' Connects to the home network. Gary whacks it with enough force—" "The network crashes." "And we rappel down the chimney dressed as Elsa and Spider-Man." Molly checked her watch. "The parents are doing the cake cutting at four. That's when the presents are unguarded on the patio." "Wrong. The presents are in the master bedroom. Mom's Instagramming the 'unboxing moment' later for clout. We need the roof access." "I thought we were going through the pet door." "That was Plan B. The Hendersons got a Great Dane. Big as a Buick. Plan C involves the bounce house." Molly rubbed her temples. "Let me understand. We are going to infiltrate a suburban home during a party with forty screaming toddlers, bypass a canine security system, hack a cloud-connected candy container, steal gifts intended for a kindergartener, and escape via... what, exactly?" "Slip-n-slide. Backyard slopes directly toward the getaway van." "Which you parked where?" "Handicapped spot at the community center next door. Very inconsiderate. Nobody suspects the handicapped spot." "Bill, we're wearing superhero costumes, carrying a duffel bag marked 'SWAG,' and you put on black lipstick." "It's tactical camouflage!" "It's a five-year-old's birthday party! There will be face paint! We'll blend in perfectly!" Molly paused. She looked at her reflection in the rearview mirror—the red nose, the oversized shoes, the utility belt disguised as a tool apron. "Fine. But if I have to make a single balloon animal—" "You're backup. Gary's primary distraction. You just keep the parents occupied with that story about the zoning violations." "The fake building inspector routine?" "Exactly. By the time they realize you're talking about code regulations from 1972, we'll be sliding down the Slip-n-Slide with enough electronics to fund our retirement." Molly picked up her clipboard. "I want it noted that I object to this on moral grounds." "Noted." "But also... uncut Pokémon cards?" "First edition Charizard, Molly. First edition." She opened the van door. "Let's go steal some LEGOs."