Molly and Bill sat in their cramped, dingy apartment, surrounded by maps and blueprints of their latest mark: the birthday party of little Timmy Jenkins. The air was thick with excitement and the faint scent of desperation. Molly, her pixie cut a mess of tangles, leaned forward, her eyes scanning the security plan. Bill, his goatee neatly trimmed, nodded along as he sipped a lukewarm coffee. "Okay, so we've got the party clown watching the front door, and the catering staff is too busy gossiping to notice anything," Molly said, tapping her pen on the map. "Yeah, and the parents are too busy trying to impress each other with their organic quinoa salad to care about the presents," Bill added, chuckling. Molly's eyes sparkled with mirth. "I mean, who brings quinoa to a kids' party? It's like they're trying to make us steal the presents." Bill snorted, spitting coffee onto his shirt. "Amateurs." Molly grinned, her teeth glinting with mischief. "Alright, so we're set. In, grab the loot, and out before the cake is cut." Bill high-fived her, leaving a faint coffee stain on her hand.