Molly crouched behind a bush, binoculars pressed to her face, scanning the backyard of the suburban house that was currently pulsing with neon streamers and the distant shriek of a kazoo. “You realize we’re robbing seven-year-olds, right?” Bill adjusted his ski mask—blue, with little cartoon penguins on it—and frowned. “They’re not *people* people. They’re capitalist sponges. Besides, look at that piñata. That thing’s made of leather, Molly. Leather.” “Leather doesn’t mean treasure,” she hissed. “That piñata’s full of jellybeans and existential dread.” “Still better odds than that yoga instructor’s house. Remember the incense? I broke into a lavender coma.” Molly lowered the binoculars. “This is a birthday party for Timmy—*Timmy*, Bill. He has a pet turtle named Sir Crunches. Are we really going to traumatize Sir Crunches?” “We’re not robbing the turtle,” Bill said, zipping up his black tac-suit. “We’re robbing *Timmy*. And his parents, who clearly overcompensate with gift-giving. Look—over there. Stack of presents taller than your moral compass.” “That’s because my moral compass is broken from all the jewel thefts,” Molly muttered. “Also, you realize they’ve got a bounce house, right? That thing’s a surveillance blind spot. Kids jump, inflatable wobbles—the whole structure could collapse on us.” “That’s the *perfect* distraction,” Bill whispered, pulling out a walkie-talkie. “When the kids start the limbo, we move in. Limbo lowers inhibitions *and* center of gravity.” Molly squinted. “You think children playing limbo with a pool noodle is our cover?” “They’re distracted! They’re laughing! One of them just ate glitter. *That’s* our moment.” “Ate *glitter*?” Molly lowered her voice to a harsh whisper. “Bill, that kid is going to have constipation for *weeks*. We can’t steal from people who don’t even monitor their own glitter intake!” Bill checked his watch. “Party magician’s on in five. You know what happens after the magic show?” “Besides renewed belief in the impossible?” “Cake. Then chaos. Then nap time. We hit it during the sugar crash. Kids are limp, parents are texting, the dog’s in the shed eating napkins.” “There’s a dog?” “Yeah. A Pomeranian named Princess Fluffernutter. But she’s more into squeaky toys than personal accountability.” Molly groaned. “You’ve been stalking this birthday like it’s the Louvre.” “I did my recon,” Bill said proudly. “I even posed as a clown.” “You *what*?” “Last week. ‘Bubbles the Questionable.’ I handed out balloons and took notes. Did you know the gift table’s guarded by a rotating adult—usually Aunt Carol? She hates licorice and is allergic to balloons popping.” Molly blinked. “You’re telling me you weaponized balloon phobia.” “Emotional intelligence, Molly,” Bill said, adjusting his penguin mask. “It’s what separates us from pirates.” “This feels wrong,” she said, but she was already pulling on her gloves. “We’re grown adults sneaking into a place with a ball pit.” “Ball pits are tactical gold mines,” Bill said. “Once I’m inside, I can resurface anywhere. It’s like underwater stealth.” “And what if a child sees you?” “I’ll tell him I’m Santa’s disgraced cousin.” “Dark Santa?” “*Exiled* Santa. Very tragic backstory. He’ll cry, you’ll distract with candy, we make our escape.” Molly sighed. “If we get caught, I’m blaming the penguin mask.” Bill patted her shoulder. “And I’ll say you made me do it. Classic heist twist.” She stood, cracking her knuckles. “Alright. But if we find a single LEGO set, it’s yours. I’m not stepping into that again.” “Fair. I’ve got the toe resilience of a war veteran.” They crouched low, moving toward the fence as the sound of squealing and off-key singing swelled behind them. “Just remember,” Bill whispered, “no mercy. No guilt. And for the love of God, *avoid the face paint area*.” “Noted. But Bill?” “Yeah?” “If we see cupcakes… we take three. I’ve had a long week.” “Now you’re thinking like a professional.”