Molly and Bill stood in the shadows cast by the vibrant, balloon-clad community center, the laughter and shrieks of sugar-high children echoing through the open windows. "Can't believe we're doing this," Bill whispered, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. "Stealing from kids. What has our life of crime come to, Molly?" "Desperate times, Bill," she replied, her voice stern. "We need the practice, and those little darlings won't even miss their gifts once the sugar wears off." "But it feels wrong, Molly. Their innocent smiles—" "Focus, Bill. We agreed—a soft target to sharpen our skills. We scope, we snatch, we scram. Easy as pie." Bill sighed. "Easier than this banana cream pie I made for the talent show." "Shush now, no more jibber-jabber. Let's get this show on the road." With a final glance at each other, they slipped into the party, blending into the chaos. They moved with practiced ease, their eyes scanning the room, calculating risks and rewards. As the children danced and played, unaware of the lurking thieves, Molly and Bill's eyes met once more, a silent agreement made. Their hands quickly and expertly wrapped the gifts, ready to be spirited away into the night.