Molly leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping a lukewarm cup of coffee, while Bill pored over a dog-eared map of the party venue. The drab orange walls of their cramped apartment provided a stark backdrop to their high-stakes operation. "So, let me get this straight, we're breaking into a children's party," Bill said, his brow furrowed in concentration. "To steal, what, a hundred or so small, potentially hazardous gifts?" "That's the one," Molly replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "We can resell them on the black market for a pretty penny." Bill rubbed his temples, the soft scratch of his stubble scraping against his fingertips. "We're professionals, not cat burglars with a fragile conscience. Don't you think we're taking on a bit too much by stealing Christmas from children?" "I'm not stealing their childhood, Bill, I'm stealing their broken toys with lead paint and questionable origins. Big difference." Molly snatched the map from Bill's hands, scrutinizing the layout. "We go in at 3 PM, when the party's in full swing. The adults will be distracted by sugar highs and forced fun, and the kids will be too busy fighting over Power Rangers to notice we're swooping in for the loot." Bill's gaze drifted toward the ceiling as he pondered the operation's risks. "And what's the plan for getting past the party's security? From what I've gathered, it's a flimsy ' adults are responsible for their own children' policy. That doesn't exactly scream 'secure'." "Ah, that's where you're wrong, my friend," Molly chimed in, a sly grin spreading across her face. "The beauty of the party's security lies not in its measures, but in its lack thereof. You see, parents are too busy stuffing their faces with cheap party food and pretending to have a good time to keep a weather eye out for would-be thieves. They'll be too caught up in the chaos of a dozen shrieking kids to notice we're lifting their precious cargo." Bill blinked, raising an eyebrow. "And how do you intend to get out with the loot without getting caught?" Molly winked at him. "Leave that to me. I've got a plan B, C, and D in place, each more cunning than the last. By the time the adults notice the presents are missing, we'll be long gone, sipping cocktails at that beachside resort I've been wanting to visit." The air was thick with the scent of stale air and anticipation as Molly folded the map and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans. "Alright, let's get to work. We need to finalize the perimeter, scope out the supply closet, and –" Bill yawned, cutting her off mid-sentence. "Actually, can we do this in the morning? I need some sleep and a decent night's rest before we start risking life and limb for cheap plastic toys." Molly shot him a sarcastic smile. "Too bad, Bill. We're sticking to our 3 AM get-away. Sleep deprivation is just another form of marketable skill, after all." Bill rubbed his tired eyes, murmuring to himself, "Some 'expert' I've become."