In the heart of the dimly lit, smoky backroom of The Whistling Kettle, Molly and Bill sat huddled over a worn-out map. The room was filled with the clatter of coffee cups and the murmurs of late-night patrons, but they were oblivious to the world around them, their eyes locked onto the faded blueprint of the target. Molly's fingers tapped rhythmically against the table, her eyes scanning the map with a focus that would have made a hawk proud. "So, Bill," she began, her voice barely above a whisper, "you're sure about this?" Bill looked up from the map, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "Sure about what, Mol? The plan? The target? The fact that we're about to pull off the greatest heist since they invented the piñata?" Molly rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "The target, Bill. The children's party. We're about to steal presents from kids. Are you sure we're not overstepping?" Bill chuckled, a sound that was part laugh, part cough. "Molly, sweetie, it's not like we're pulling off a bank job. This is just a friendly little... raid. Besides, who doesn't love a little Christmas miracle? Especially when it's us pulling the strings." Molly sighed, but she knew Bill was right. They had been through too much together to start arguing about the ethics of their latest job. "Fine, but we need to be quick and quiet. We can't afford to draw attention." Bill nodded, his fingers tracing a path on the map. "We'll sneak in through the backyard, avoid the parents like the plague, and be in and out before you can say 'elf on the shelf'." Molly's lips twitched at the phrase. "You sure you're not a Christmas elf in disguise, Bill?" Bill laughed, a sound that was infectious and loud enough to turn a few heads. "Only if they're hiring. Now, let's get this show on the road. We've got presents to steal." They stood, gathering their tools and weapons - or at least, the things they insisted were necessary for their 'mission'. As they made their way to the door, Molly looked back at Bill, her expression serious. "You know, once we're done with this, we need to lay low. The cops are getting wise to our little... 'scams'." Bill grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Scams? Mol, we're not scammers. We're... entrepreneurial spirit personified." Molly rolled her eyes again, but she was smiling. "Whatever you say, Bill. Just promise me we won't end up in the slammer this time." Bill held up his hand, a mock salute. "No promises, Mol. No promises." And with that, they slipped out into the night, leaving behind the laughter and warmth of The Whistling Kettle to embark on their latest adventure.