Molly crouched behind a trash can, her eyes scanning the brightly lit house across the street. Balloons bobbed in the breeze, and the muffled sounds of laughter and children's cheers drifted through the night. She pulled out a crumpled napkin with a rough sketch of the house’s layout, flipping it open like a secret treasure map. Bill peeked over her shoulder, his face lit by the glow of a tiny flashlight. "So, what's the plan, oh cunning one?" Molly rolled her eyes. "First, we wait for the crowd to thin out. There’s a good twenty kids still bouncing around inside. No way we're getting in clean until they're asleep or totally distracted." Bill smirked. "Kids always distract themselves. That’s your big plan—wait until they’re all hopped up and then swoop in while their parents are too busy gossiping about the pumpkin dip." She nodded. "Exactly. And during that time, we’ll need to disable the alarm system. I got a little gadget from a guy I know—remind me to tell you about the tech school I attended, but in short, it’ll cut the power for a few minutes." Bill looked skeptical. "A gadget? You mean like a fancy remote or a magic wand?" "More like a tiny box with wires. Anyway, once that’s done, we have about three minutes to get in and grab the presents." Molly mainlined her plan. "We go through the back door. It’s less guarded. I checked—no motion sensors back there, just a simple lock. I got the pick. It’s a real charming little tool, and I’ve been practicing on my dad's door." "Your dad's door? Did he know you were secretly a locksmith now?" She grinned. "He’d be proud. Or terrified." Bill chuckled. "Okay, so far, so good. What’s the exit look like?” Molly pointed to her sketch. "Through the window in the kid's playroom. It’s unlocked, apparently, because the kid’s been sneaking out all week." Bill raised an eyebrow. "Sneaking out? At age five? Well, that kid’s gonna need a new hobby." "Or a new set of parents," Molly said, smirking. "Once we have the presents, we split—no lingering, no second siren wake-up call." "Hold on, what about the cake?" Bill asked, eyes narrowing. "You’re not planning to leave the birthday cake behind, are you? That’s practically a treasure chest." Molly snorted. "Forget the cake. We’re not here for sugar comas. This is about the loot." Bill tapped his chin theatrically. "You know, I always wondered—why just the presents? Why not the cake, the decorations, the party favors? Ambitious, Molly." She chuckled. "Because presents are the real prize. Everyone’s always so obsessed with the cake, they forget the loot hidden in the presents." He nodded thoughtfully. "Strategic. I like it." Molly glanced at her watch. "Alright, the kids are starting to wind down. The next thirty minutes are our window. I’ll disable the alarm, then you pull the lock, I’ll break the window, and boom, we’re in." Bill looked toward the house. "And then what? We just scoop and dash? Like a couple of overgrown kids on a sugar rush." "Exactly. Simple, fast, and clean." She paused. "And no one gets hurt." Bill hesitated for a moment, then grinned. "You really think this will work?" Molly smirked. "It has to. If we pull it off, we’ll be legends… or at least, the reason the neighborhood never throws another kids’ party again." He laughed. “Well, Molly, you’ve outdone yourself today. Let’s make some magic happen.” Together, they melted into the shadows, scoping out their mischievous playground. The night was young and full of promises of stolen presents and laughter—although not the kind the kids would be having.