Molly crouched beside the inflatable T. rex in the alley behind Bouncy Boo’s Palace of Fun, squinting at the party schedule taped to the dumpster. “Three piñata swings, a magic show, and—get this—nap time at 2:15. Our golden window.” She grinned, popping a grape-sized tracking device into her mouth like candy. “I’ve already swallowed the GPS. If I get caught, you’ll know exactly where I am. Like a high-tech burrito.” Bill adjusted his neon-green party hat and tugged at the waistband of his zebra-striped footed pajamas—the official costume of “Uncle Zee, the Zany Zookeeper.” “You *ate* the tracker?” he hissed. “What if you—y’know—*digest* it? Then I’m tracking your emotional journey through the lower intestine.” “It’s encapsulated,” she said, snapping on glittery fingerless gloves. “Besides, I need both hands free to carry out the loot. Speaking of—can you handle the clown?” Bill shuddered. “Him? With the red nose and the *stare*? That man has seen things. Also, he smells like pickles and existential dread.” “You’re wearing footie pajamas and carrying a toy tuba. You don’t get to judge sanity right now.” He sighed, checking his watch. “Nap time in seven minutes. Are we really doing this? Stealing from toddlers?” Molly blinked at him. “Yes, Bill. We’re stealing from toddlers. They’ve got piles of loot wrapped in princess paper and guarded by nothing but a guy in sponge pants and a balloon poodle.” “But they’re *children*.” “And we’re professionals.” She handed him a glitter bomb disguised as a squeaky toy. “Distraction in five, three, trigger on sight.” Bill tucked the bomb under his arm. “This feels wrong. Like, karmically unbalanced.” “Karma’s a slow-moving system,” Molly said, already scaling the fire escape toward the party room window. “By the time it catches up, we’ll be in Belize eating lobster and pretending we’re philanthropists.” Below, the sound of squeals and a wobbly rendition of “Happy Birthday” floated through the open air vents. A purple balloon animal dog waddled past the dumpster on its own, as if fleeing the scene. Molly pried open the window with a plastic spork. “Security’s pathetic. Did you know they use biometrics?” Bill froze. “Fingerprints? Retinal scans?!” “No,” she whispered. “They scan your *handprint* in glitter glue. But I brought oven mitts.” “You never cease to amaze me.” “Flattery won’t get you a bigger cut,” she said, slipping inside. “But groveling might.” Bill stepped onto the ladder, muttering, “If I end up in juvenile detention surrounded by felt puppets, I’m blaming you.” “You love puppets.” “I *tolerate* puppets. There’s a difference.” Molly dropped onto a foam pit and rolled behind a stack of gift bags. “Stay low. Nap time’s starting. Soft lighting, gentle lullabies, and the sweet sound of capitalism wrapped in tissue paper.” Bill poked his head in, clutching the tuba. “I still think we should’ve gone after the jewelry store.” “Jewelry stores don’t have nap time, Bill. Nap time is *heist o’clock*.” He joined her, tiptoeing past sleeping children in superhero capes and unicorn onesies. One toddler snored softly, hugging a stolen cupcake like a teddy bear. Molly began stuffing presents into a bounce house slide leading to the alley. “Fast, quiet, and morally flexible. Just like Mom used to teach us.” “We had a very weird childhood,” Bill murmured, handing over a gift-wrapped scooter. “But excellent napping ethics,” Molly said. “Now, about that clown…”