Molly paced the dim garage, her footsteps echoing against the concrete floor. Rain pattered against the windows while Bill hunched over blueprints spread across an old card table. "This is low, even for us," Molly muttered, twirling a lock of hair nervously. Bill shrugged without looking up. "Six-year-olds get better presents than we ever did. Little Timmy Crawford's getting a PlayStation 5." Molly stopped pacing and leaned over the table. The blueprint showed the Crawford house layout, with red X's marking entry points and blue dots indicating present locations. "Parents always congregate in the kitchen," Bill explained, tapping the paper. "We slip in through the back during the magic show." "What if a kid sees us?" "That's why we're dressing as clowns." Molly grimaced. "I hate clowns." "Everyone does. That's the beauty of it." Bill reached into a duffel bag and pulled out a rainbow wig and red nose. Molly snatched them with a groan. "Fine, but we're leaving the cake," she insisted. "Even thieves have standards." Bill grinned. "Deal. Now let's go ruin a birthday party."