Molly and Bill stood in the shadows cast by the tall fence surrounding the backyard where the children's party was in full swing. Paper lanterns hung from tree branches, swaying gently in the evening breeze, their bright colors a stark contrast to the darkness that loomed beyond. "Are you sure this is a good idea, Bill?" Molly whispered, her eyes flicking towards the raucous party. "I mean, it's a kids' party. Stealing from them feels a bit..." "Unscrupulous?" Bill suggested with a mischievous grin. "Don't be fooled, Molly. It's a party thrown by a bunch of parents trying to one-up each other. Just look at that pile of presents." He pointed towards a tower of exquisitely wrapped boxes, bows and ribbons gleaming in the twilight. "Those gifts are worth a small fortune. We're not taking candy from babies; we're liberating overpriced toys from rich parents." "I suppose," Molly said, still hesitating. "But what if we get caught? Won't it look bad if we're caught stealing from kids?" Bill waved her concerns away. "We won't get caught. See, we wait until the cake is served. Everyone will be distracted, singing and making wishes. That's when we strike. In, grab a gift, and out before they even blow out the candles." "What if someone sees us?" "Then we improvise, my dear Watson," Bill said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "The key to a successful heist is adaptability. We adapt to our surroundings, use our surroundings, and voila! The presents are ours." Molly took a deep breath, steeling her nerves. "Okay, let's do this. But we need a code word in case things go south. If I say 'pass the butter,' that means—" "I know what it means, Molly," Bill interrupted. "You don't need to explain every detail. I've pulled heists before, you know." "Just making sure," Molly muttered. "All right, let's get in position. I'll take the gifts from the left side, and you take the right." They crept closer, weaving through the throng of oblivious guests. The cake, a towering confectionary masterpiece, was being carried out by two proud parents. Bill nudged Molly. "Showtime. Remember, adapt and conquer." The song "Happy Birthday" rang out as the candles were lit, their tiny flames twinkling like stars. Bill and Molly moved in sync, blending into the singing crowd. They snatched presents, their fingers nimbly undoing the elaborate bows without a sound. But as the final verse of the song began, a small voice piped up. "Why are those people taking our presents?" Bill froze, his hand halfway through untwisting a ribbon. Molly's eyes widened as she realized their cover was blown. "Pass the butter," she hissed at Bill, grabbing his arm. Bill's eyes flickered in understanding, and they swiftly melted back into the shadows, the ill-gotten gifts forgotten in their haste to escape unseen.