The afternoon sun glinted off the bouncy castle, casting long, ominous shadows where Molly hid, hunched over her clipboard. The inflatable structure was already leaking colorful rubber, matching their nervous energy. She checked the time, the ticking second hand sounding like a bomb timer against the backdrop of shrieking children and taunting goldfish bowls. "Listen closely, genius," Bill hissed, peeking out from behind a fern. "The magician has eyes in the back of his head." "That is a silly myth, darling," Molly scoffed. "Besides, he is distracted by the twins, not the loot pile. Do you really think the clown notices us?" "No, I think the clown is watching us," Bill whispered. "We strike now," she ordered, grabbing her gear. "Grab the largest box. Do you think the napkins will survive the move?" "I am not worried about the napkins," Bill grunted. "I am worried about the bunny." "It is the mascot, Bill. It is the getaway vehicle." "I hate stuffed animals. They look at me like they know my secrets." "Focus on the gold, not the fur. Stay low." Bill sighed, adjusting his ill-fitting hat. "Fine. But if I get arrested, I am writing a tell-all book." "Go, go, go."