Molly scrutinized the reconnaissance photos spread across the kitchen table, her eyes narrowing at the image of a bouncy castle emblazoned with "Happy 7th Birthday, Timmy!" Bill, lounging in the chair opposite, crunched into an apple, the sound echoing through the tense silence. "Alright, so we've got two entrances, three exits, and a potential wild card in the form of a temperamental ball pit," Molly summarized, tapping her pen against the table. Bill swallowed, his expression thoughtful. "I'm more concerned about the grown-ups. How many chaperones are we looking at?" "According to my source – Timmy's aunt, who owes me a favor – there'll be at least five, possibly seven, depending on who brings a plus-one. All of whom will be too distracted by the sugar high to notice us." Bill raised an eyebrow. "And you trust this aunt of yours not to, you know, actually care about her nephew's party and warn them?" Molly shot him a withering look. "Of course I do. I've got leverage. Let's just say Aunt Susan has a few 'extracurricular activities' she wouldn't want Mum and Dad to know about." Bill whistled softly. "You're a saint, Molly. Now, about the gift table – do we have a list of what we're looking to lift?" "Everything, of course. But priority goes to the electronics and the new 'Galactic Blaster' action figures. Those are going for a pretty penny on the black market." As Bill began to nod, his eyes widened in mock horror. "Wait, we're stealing from children. What kind of monsters are we?" Molly rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "The kind who pay their rent on time, Bill. Now, focus – we need a convincing disguise to blend in with the other parents." "I've got just the thing," Bill said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "My sister's old mom-jeans and a 'World's Okayest Dad' t-shirt. I'll be the epitome of suburban camouflage." Molly face-palmed. "You can't be serious. We need to look like we actually belong at a children's party, not like we're trying out for a comedic sketch." Bill's grin faltered, but only for a moment. "Oh, come on. It'll be fun! We can be the cool, hip parents who –" "Bill, we're thieves, not Method actors. Stick to the plan: in, grab the gifts, out. No improvisation, no 'having fun' with the ball pit. We're professionals." With a dramatic sigh, Bill relinquished his apple core to the trash can. "Fine, spoilsport. But if I don't at least get to yell 'Surprise!' at some point, I'm out." Molly's expression turned stony, though a hint of amusement danced in her eyes. "You'll get your 'Surprise!', Bill. Right after we fence the Galactic Blasters."