Molly adjusted her night vision goggles, which were smudged with frosting from the reconnaissance cupcake she'd eaten earlier. The dim light of the van's interior made Bill's face look even more severe than usual, his eyebrows knitting together as he studied the crayon-drawn map spread across his knees. Outside, the suburban street was quiet except for the distant shriek of a bounce house deflating somewhere in the cul-de-sac. The scent of vanilla cake and failure lingered in the air, thick enough to taste. "Tell me again why we aren't robbing a bank?" Molly asked, tightening her grip on the empty gift bag. "Banks have cameras," Bill said. "Tyler's mom has a Polaroid and a wine cooler. Besides, do you know what a Lightning McQueen racetrack set goes for on the black market?" "It's plastic and costs thirty dollars retail." "Limited edition," Bill corrected. "And there's twenty other presents. Do the math." Molly stared at him, watching his eyes dart across the hand-drawn terrain of the backyard layout. Crayon lines marked the location of the swing set, the hazard zone of the sprinkler system, and what appeared to be a drawing of a dog that Bill had labeled 'Hostile Asset.' She wondered when exactly her partner had lost his grip on reality, or whether he'd ever truly had one to begin with. The van smelled like old fries and desperation, with a hint of balloon rubber. "I've found clarity," Bill continued, tapping the map. "Look at this guest list—dentists, lawyers. These kids get the good stuff. iPads, gaming consoles, designer sneakers in size toddler." "So we're stealing shoes from babies?" "Technically from the gift table. And we're not monsters. We'll leave the clothes. Nobody fences a onesie." Bill paused, his expression darkening. "Except that one guy in Jersey, but he's got specific tastes." "Bill, there will be a bouncy castle." "Distraction." "There will be a face painter." "Potential witness. Avoid eye contact." "What if someone offers us juice?" "We're Method acting. We belong there. We are party guests." "We weren't invited!" "Since when has that stopped us?" Bill adjusted the party hat perched on his head at a jaunty angle. "Besides, I've got the perfect cover. I'll say I'm Tyler's uncle from Cincinnati." "You told the clown you were his uncle." "And he believed me because I committed to the bit." Bill checked his watch, a serious gesture undermined by the elastic chin strap of his hat. "Magic show starts in five. We move on my signal." "Which is?" "When the rabbit comes out of the hat. Classic misdirection." "You're enjoying this too much." "Heist is a heist, Molly. Respect the craft." Molly sighed, attaching a carabiner to her utility belt while wondering if prison might actually be a step up from this humiliation. "You do realize we're stealing from a child who believes Spider-Man is coming to his party." "Spider-Man is a no-show," Bill said grimly. "I checked. Some guy named Dave in a suit. But that works for us. When the crying starts, nobody notices two adults in black turtlenecks." "We're wearing turtlenecks? It's ninety degrees." "Stealth requires sacrifice." Bill pulled out a second party hat from his tactical vest, this one covered in glitter and the face of a cartoon puppy. "Now put on your disguise and remember: if anyone asks, you really love Paw Patrol."