Molly scanned the colorful confines of the children's party, her eyes catching the glint of wrapped gifts beneath the festive turkey. Beside her, Bill slipped into the shadows, his fingers dancing over a lock pick set. "These are prime targets," Molly whispered, "Artefacts from the elite, china, and electronics. But remember, no fingerprints." Bill nodded, his gaze rodent to the elaborate cake display. "A birthday party guard is the perfect distraction." "A clown, then," Molly concluded, her lips curving into a sly grin. "The more elaborate, the better." As the party's pages unfolded, the clown, a master of mischief and jokes alike, spun tales of pirates and treasure chests, drawing hushed awe from the children. Molly and Bill moved among the mirth, exchanging subtle nods. With swift precision, Bill's hands intercepted, the clown's antics not hindering their intent. They executed their ballet of shadows, leaving no trace but an unfounded notion of joy. Soon after, the clown's silhouette dissolved into the sea of velvet and balloons, their prize plundered with the guise of a merry band. "Stealth," Bill muttered. "Couldn't land a cake, but took the good stuff." Molly's laughter rang out, soft as a fishhook. "Next time, we’ll need a bigger boat—or should I say, a larger cookie jar." With a final glance at the now-empty trinket table, they melted away into the night, their pockets and hearts lighter with each stolen toy.