In the shadow of the inflatable unicorn archway, Molly crouched low, her eyes locked on a fortress of gift-wrapped boxes stacked precariously by the lemonade table. The scent of frosting drifted through the summer air, mingling with shrieks of sugar-fueled joy. “This is madness,” Bill hissed, flattening himself behind a lattice fence festooned with crepe paper. “We look suspicious.” He nudged his paper party hat, trying to balance stealth and celebration. Molly offered a sly grin. “If you want subtlety, lose the giraffe face paint.” Against reason, Bill’s cheeks had transformed into a menagerie. He scowled, rubbing at a blue blot. Nearby, a gaggle of balloon-sword wielding children thundered past, oblivious. Bill surveyed the mountain of gifts with greedy calculation. “So we just stroll up, grab Santa’s haul, and waltz out?” “Inconspicuous waltzing is an art form,” Molly replied, unspooling a length of pink streamer. “We need a diversion.” She nodded toward an adult distracted by a sunken bouncy castle—opportunity incarnate. Bill shuddered. “If that castle eats another toddler, we’re in trouble.” Molly filed that under ‘Plan B.’ Lifting a cupcake, she whispered, “We blend in. Grim determination. Sugar high.” Bill sighed. “This is the weirdest job yet.”