Molly adjusted the ski mask. “You realize we’re robbing a bunch of five-year-olds, right?” Bill checked the rubber chicken in his pocket. “Distraction is key. Kids love rubber chickens.” “And when they start screaming? What then?” “They’ll scream *with joy*,” Bill said. “We’ll look like clowns. We *are* clowns. Technically.” “You’re technically an idiot,” Molly muttered. “This is a piñata heist, not Cirque du Soleil.” “Relax. I’ve studied children. They’re simple creatures. Offer juice, get access.” “Juice? That’s your master plan?” “No. The juice is to get *in*. The rubber chicken is for misdirection. The tiny ninja stars—” “You brought *ninja stars* to a birthday party?” “For the balloon animal station. Backup plan. They’re blunt.” Molly stared. “You can’t stab kids. Even with blunt ninja stars.” “Fine. But if the cake explodes—” “Why would the cake explode?” “It might. I added glitter.” “Glitter?! That’s not stealing. That’s felony arts and crafts!” “It’s *theatrical*. When they’re blinded by joy—and sparkles—we grab the loot.” “And the getaway?” “Tricycle tandem. I’ve been training.” Molly sighed. “I can’t believe I’m saying this… but what if they like us too much?” Bill grinned. “Then we do an encore. Steal their hearts. Then their loot. Classic misdirection.” “Still feels wrong.” “Molly. We’re stealing from a party where the main entertainment is a guy in a dinosaur suit.” “…Fair.”