Molly adjusted her monocle, peering down at the tiny white satin box. It was exactly as described on the sketchy website—a safe with a minimalist design that promised a bounty of electronics and games for the children's birthday party. "This should be a piece of cake, Bill." Bill, always the larger joker, tapped a police officer's baton rhythmically. "As long as there's a free drink at the party." "Have confidence, Mr. Magpie. Stealth is an art—you just haven't mastered it yet." "Easy for you to say," Bill grinned, slipping into a shadow. "Maybe try not bumbling through the vents and waking store security." "Ha, I’ll teach you that art form post-capture.” With a shared sigh, the two combed through the room. Molly found the wireless router, and with deft fingers, expertly purged the home's WiFi—they wouldn't risk a single notification alerting the authorities. "System is down," she whispered gleefully. "Better not wake up Grandma; she’ll be spending hours making cookies with the kids," Bill teased, cracking his knuckles. Seconds ticked by; a preemptively planned playlist of lullabies filled the silent room, soothing them into a sense of plausible deniability. Scaling the sleek slide of one wall, they bypassed the slumbering party animals. Bill fancied he heard a lullaby of treasure—money, maybe? “Ladles and pots," Molly called, leading him to the pantry. She weighed a remote control in her hand. "I prefer scarves—silver treasures, ones that glint," protested Bill, snatching a sparkler-encrusted tablescape centerpiece—something practical, something festive. "Done," Molly chimed, eyeing the safe. She gently pressed a sequence on the touchpad that was set up as a failure alarm—just in case. Bill grinned, "We’ll be needing defenses now!" Satisfied with their clandestine booty, the pair executed a perfectly timed exit, unnoticed amid the purples and golds. "Let's not forget the heart of the party—the gift bags. Each must contain today’s edition of Gadabout Weekly." The magazine was more lapdog bait than treasure here—it was the bait for any juvenile celebration. "Of course! And let's not leave a trace of ourselves," Molly noted, making sure to leave behind the light footprints of their caper. After flipping out of the party, they had a hearty exchange of grins and minimal beats—far from the police, they knew that the neighborhood kids would be whispering happily about the ghostly party guests. As they split the spoils, Bill quipped, "I guess some parties are worth avoiding altogether—catch you on the next endeavour, Lady Mac." With her flask of legal spirits in hand, Molly arched an eyebrow and retorted, "And you keep playing chicken with the law, Mr. Houdini.” Together, they winked and vanished into the night, their laughter echoing through alleys and into lore—the next grand jewels off their belt of moonlit misdeeds.