The dimly lit conference room was a far cry from the high-stakes casinos and ritzy galleries Molly and Bill typically broke into. But for this job, they needed a space that allowed for, well, unbridled creativity. The smell of stale coffee and last week's pizza hung in the air, mingling with the distant hum of a malfunctioning vending machine. Molly, her raven hair tied back in a messy bun, scratched the scar above her left eyebrow as she examined the printouts of the target venue. "So, we're positive the party's at eight, and the invites say exactly what time the treasure gets handed out?" Bill, his imposing frame squeezed into a worn leather chair, nodded as he cracked open a bag of stale peanuts. "Affirmative, kid. The party's for little Jimmy's sixth birthday, and the loot's gonna be a veritable sea of sparkly toys, enough to bankrupt a small nation." Molly raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "How many presents we talking about here?" "According to the map, we're looking at least two dozen, possibly more. The parents, being the festive sorts they are, seem to have an endless supply of gift-wrapping paper and an inflated sense of generosity." She snorted. "And an inflated sense of invincibility, too. I mean, who breaks into a children's party?" Bill grinned, a crooked, practiced thing that shifted the scar above his left eyebrow into a fresh cleft. "That, kid, is what I'm counting on. They're too busy sipping juice boxes and pinning bad haircuts into place to notice an old granny crashing the gates." As Molly chuckled, she began laying out the tools of their trade: a battered tool kit, fake IDs, a canister of dusting powder, and, because one never knew when one might need it, a spare tub of popcorn. The stack of pre-printed notepads and pens, destined for notes and notes of warning, marked a less-than-thrilling but necessary part of the job. Bill rubbed his temples. "Molly, I don't know how much more of this nonsense I can take. Have you seen the venue layout? Bouncy castles, hallways maze, and – worst of all – a petting zoo? What's the plan, exactly?" Molly cradled her head in both hands, tapping her forehead with a blue Bic pen. "Plan? We're gonna do what we do best, sweetheart: wing it. I mean, it's a party, Bill. People come and go. It's chaos. That suits us just fine. Besides, where's the fun in case planning?" A shrill ringtone cut the air, a cacophony that left both thieves wincing as Bill slid his phone from pocket and hit silence with a snarl. "It's my niece's mom, confirming the party details. Says she's 'pretty sure the loot is gonna be wrapped-up in, like, a million twinkle lights. Talk about a present problem!" Molly snickered, eyes wide with the thrill of it all. "Yeah, that just added itself to the fun list. Twinkle lights, Bill, the gift-wrapping holy grail!" A new spark flashed in her dark brown eyes as a wide grin splintered across Bill's rugged face. "Alright kid. Party time."