Molly adjusted her glasses, peering over the intricate schematics of the mansion hosting the grand children's party. Bill, her partner in crime, lit another cigarette with a smirk. "Remember," Bill drawled, relishing the sound of his own voice, "it's Charlie's birthday bash. Birthday presents equal sleeves." Molly's lips twisted into a grin. "We've got the perfect plan, partner. My girlfriend packed gifts—worth a fortune—double agents under all that bubble wrap." "The distraction's our ally," Bill declared, puffing out a cloud of smoke. As they navigated the antique corridors, guided by the glow of fairy lights, their mannerisms exuded charm. Bill charmed a guard with a flawless story about a singing ghost, while Molly, with her petite figure, became a character in the tale of the 'hopping elf.' "See? The real party starts when Little Johnny realises there's no Santa," she whispered conspiratorially. "Or now, with you in my pocket," Bill retorted, tugging at an invisible flaw in her costume that the unsuspecting adults blissfully missed. Entranced by the innocence of Christmas, the children's laughter served as their soundtrack. Once classified thieves armed with gourmet bacon and hand-knitted scarfs, Molly and Bill were the night's silent heroes. After all, stealing joy felt strangely virtuous. The plan played out to perfection; the presents vanished, and the duo blended back into the night with their cons. The only thing that failed to hide their true intentions was the lingering glint of triumph in their eyes, clouding any remnants of festive spirit with grey.