Molly crouched behind an overgrown hydrangea, her surveillance cap slouching perilously close to her eyebrows. Bill squatted beside her, peering through a pair of plastic binoculars pilfered from last year’s operation at the toy store. The distant squeals and clapping of children drifted across the manicured lawn. “I’m telling you, Bill, this is a fortress,” Molly whispered, eyeing the rainbow streamers taping off any uninvited access to the main tent. “It’s a bouncy castle, Molly. You could tunnel under that thing with a soup spoon.” She scowled. “I’m just saying, we need finesse. If the party clown catches us, we’re done. I still get vertigo when I see balloon animals.” Bill shifted, binoculars pressed so firmly into his face his eyebrows threatened mutiny. “Alright, so the presents pile is under that blue tarp, right behind the magician. Rookie mistake. Never trust a man in a top hat named Doug.” Molly grinned. “Step one: distraction. Step two: present sweep. Step three: exit strategy.” She produced two silly party hats from her utility fanny pack. “Camouflage.” Bill wiggled his, ear to ear, so it resembled a unicorn in mid-nap. “You sure we need to blend in with a bunch of five-year-olds?” She jabbed a thumb at the cake table. “That’s a double chocolate ganache. The best parties attract the tightest security.” “Alright, boss. What’s our distraction?” Molly fixed him with her most serious gaze. “We set fire to the potato sack race.” Bill blinked. “Setting fire, Molly?” She rolled her eyes. “Metaphorically. I’m not burning up small children.” He looked genuinely relieved. “Thank heavens. What’s the metaphorical fire then?” “It’s you, Bill. You’re going to challenge the magician to a magic-off.” “A magic-off? Me?” Bill’s face collapsed in panic. “Just wave your arms and say something French. Confidence is key.” “Fine. But if he pulls a rabbit out of somewhere weird again, I’m blaming you.” They rose from the hydrangea’s shelter, hats adjusted to maximum whimsy. Molly gave Bill a thumbs up. “Remember, I go for the loot—stash them in the empty pinata,” she said. Bill swallowed hard and strode purposefully toward the tent, bellowing, “Bonjour, monsieur le magician! May I engage you in un petit contest of magical prowess?” His accent betrayed two years of high school Spanish and a week in Paris. Children paused, enraptured by this unexpected challenger. The magician looked put out but relished the crowd. “But of course!” Doug thundered, twirling his wand with dangerous abandon. Molly, meanwhile, dove behind the mountain of presents, sliding like a professional shortstop beneath the blue tarp. She whispered into her walkie, “Commencing Operation Grab Bag.” Bill, meanwhile, attempted to conjure a scarf from his sleeve, producing a lone receipt for chicken nuggets. The children jeered. “Ah, he is warming up!” The magician boasted. “Just your wait, Doug-la!” Bill choked out, eyeing Molly as she crammed presents into the hollowed-out bat pinata with unparalleled speed. A wail erupted from the birthday girl, catching them both off guard. “Molly! Plan E!” Bill hissed. “Smoke bomb!” Molly yelled, tossing a handful of flour into the air. They bolted through the chaos, hats listing, pinata in tow. The last thing they heard before freedom was the birthday mom, screaming, “Somebody stop those unicorns!”