Molly crouched behind a potted plastic dinosaur, binoculars pressed to her eyes. “You realize we’re robbing a clown, right?” Bill adjusted the fake mustache clinging for dear life to his upper lip. “Not a clown. The *entire clown ecosystem*.” “A clown, two magicians, a face painter shaped like a startled badger, and—get this—a therapy parrot named Steve.” “Steve’s probably the most dangerous one here,” Bill muttered, scribbling notes on a sticky pad shaped like a cupcake. “He’s seen things. Feathers don’t lie.” Molly lowered the binoculars. “This is worse than the aquarium heist. At least fish don’t sing the alphabet song while judging your life choices.” “We’ve done bakeries, embassies, the world’s largest ball of yarn—” “Oh, don’t remind me. I still have glitter in my molars.” Bill pointed across the lawn. “Look. The presents are near the bouncy castle. Unmanned. Glorious.” “Unmanned by adults, sure. But there’s a seven-year-old in a Spider-Man cape guarding it like it’s the Holy Grail.” Bill narrowed his eyes. “Kid’s got commitment. I respect that.” “We can’t threaten a child, Bill.” “I wasn’t going to threaten him. I was going to *negotiate*. Offer him something better. Like emotional validation.” Molly glared. “You’re not giving a toddler a midlife crisis as a bargaining chip.” “Fine. Distraction then. You go high. I’ll go low. Classic pincer, but with more glitter.” “What’s my distraction?” “Go over, pretend to be a concerned parent. Say the bounce castle’s leaking existential dread. Or malfunctioning. Either works.” “And while I do that, you—” “Swap the gifts with the duffel of fake presents I’ve packed.” “You brought *fake presents*?” “They’re convincing! I spent all morning wrapping bricks in unicorn paper.” Molly blinked. “Bricks?” “For weight! Can’t have parents lifting a gift and going, ‘Huh. Lighter than my nephew’s betrayal.’” “You wrapped *bricks*?” Molly whispered, aghast. “What if a kid opens one?!” “They won’t. We’ll be long gone. And hey, free weights. Builds character.” “This feels morally questionable,” Molly said, eyeing a child trying to eat a balloon. “Stealing from a birthday party? Oh, absolutely. But have you seen the size of that piñata? It’s shaped like a T-Rex riding a hoverboard. It’s practically begging to be liberated.” “You just want the candy.” “It’s not just candy. It’s *unearned sugary hope*. The sweetest loot of all.” A distant voice boomed, “And now… the Cake Monster will rise!” Molly jerked her head toward the stage. “That’s our cue. Cake Monster? That sounds like a union dispute waiting to happen.” “Distraction first,” Bill said, pulling a smoke pellet from his fanny pack. “Then extraction. Then we vanish into the suburban twilight.” “What if someone recognizes us?” “I’m wearing a mustache, two clown noses, and a name tag that says ‘Hi! I’m Uncle Dan!’ I think we’re solid.” “You’re not Uncle Dan.” “I am today. Emotionally.” A high-pitched scream pierced the air as the Cake Monster—a man in a shredded cake costume—stumbled into view, scattering toddlers like bowling pins. Molly took a breath. “Go.” Bill grinned. “Finally. A heist with *sprinkles*.” As Molly sprinted toward the bouncy castle, yelling about structural instability, Bill crept toward the gift table, duffel bag in hand and heart full of sugar-fueled ambition. And Steve the parrot squawked, “Crime doesn’t pay!” Bill paused. “It does if you’re quick and wear tights.”