Molly adjusted the ski mask over her face, tucking stray hairs underneath. "Okay, so what's the plan?" Bill checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time. "We've got ten minutes until the kiddies start blowing out the candles. What are we doing?" Molly pulled back the sheet to gaze at the colorful chaos before her. "The presents, duh. We're not here for the cake." Bill nodded, produced a crowbar from behind the curtains, and began to pry open the back door. The other party guests, oblivious to the impending invasion, continued to ooh and ahh over the piñata. Molly slipped in, careful to make only the faintest squeak on the wooden floorboards. Bill followed, already checking the tables for anything that looked plump with presents. "Right, the cake table. What's our target?" "Who knows?" Molly replied, rummaging through a bag of assorted disguises. "But I'm thinking along the lines of a bright pink elephant or a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. You'd be way more recognizable without the party horn." Bill chuckled, eyeing a mangled Elmo costume. "Too small. I'm like a reject from a toddler's closet." The noise of another kid squealing was muffled from inside the living room, and Molly's eyes darted towards the creak of the bookshelf a heartbeat before it fell, sending books tumbling onto the floor. "Keep your voice down." Bill winked. "Scary pirate, Molly. Very scary." Reaching for a pillow, Molly stuffed it into her bag with an air of practiced nonchalance. "Shut up, we seem to have a human piñata to skewer next." Bill chuckled as they slid onto the couch, between the screaming children. "How do we carry this all without getting caught?" Molly peered at the heap of unwrapped children's gifts, sorted by size and color. "Smaller ones go in the onesie bag. Stuffed animals, candies, what-have-you. Larger gifts – the expensive toys – you got the bag with the blanket in it." As Bill deftly took a doll elephant off the shelf, Molly examined the clock on the wall. "Seven minutes left. Let's keep moving." "Almost there," Bill mumbled over the din. "When do we get out?" "Get the good stuff first," Molly reminded him, a sly grin spreading across her face. "What's the most valuable item on your list?" "Someone's 8K diamond necklace. Definitely the top prize." "Which we can sell in a few hours at the flea market," Molly suggested, setting aside her end of loot. "No need to draw any unwanted attention towards it." A wail pierced the air as a preschooler threw himself from this end of the couch, arms flailing. Bill instinctively raised the crowbar, ready to defend their operation from sudden wrath, but it was too late; a security guard stumbled into the room. "What in the world...?" "Uh, Mr. Jones, sir?" Molly feigned curiosity, falling into a sugary cereal box with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old. "Are those cupcakes?"