Molly and Bill skulked behind a row of azalea bushes, casing the joint. The suburban backyard was teeming with toddlers and balloons, chaos stitched together by the unsettling melody of a clown stretched too thin. Parents sipped punch with weary eyes while children buzzed around like hyperactive bees. "You really think this’ll work?" Bill muttered, peering through binoculars too powerful for such close range. He nearly recoiled from the zoomed-in image of a toddler with cake smeared across his face. Molly adjusted her black bandana, the epitome of clandestine chic. "Of course. It's kids and parents. They’re practically walking wallets." She nudged him sharply with her elbow. "And remember, focus on the prize – the presents." Bill scanned the landscape once more. "But there's so many of ‘em. How do we blend in?" Molly pointed to a heap of party hats beside the barbecue grill. "See those? Instant camouflage. Grab a balloon, ruffle your hair. You’ll be just another overgrown kid." Bill gave a reluctant nod, his nerves rippling. "You thought of everything." She grinned, revealing a smear of chipped tooth polish. "Always do. Now, on my count – one, two, three – move!" They crept forward amid the din of squeals and laughter, shadows slipping into chaos with the precision of bumbling pros.