Night drapes the suburban street in a soft hush. A row of pastel tents and banners shines under string lights. Two silhouettes crouch behind a rosebush thick with thorns and squeaky toy fragments. Molly's gloved hand taps a balloon, sending a faint squeak that could spark suspicion. Bill edges forward, scanning the lawn littered with confetti and plastic forks. They wear mismatched sweaters and wool hats. Tonight’s big score glints in the yard: towering stacks of wrapped boxes, each with cartoon characters and metallic bows. The aroma of cupcakes clings to the air. Molly leans in, adjusting a ripcord on her sock. Bill pauses, imagining marshmallow frosting on his sneakers. They share a nod. Molly whispers, "Are you ready to swipe every gift without a trace?" Bill nods, biting his lip, then murmurs, "Absolutely. Let’s ghost before the sugar rush causes alarms, please." The pair uncurl from the hedge like burglars in a children’s fable, creeping through half-open gates. Fingers twitch with anticipation as they prepare to fill their bags. Laughter floats from the patio where balloons bob like silent sentries. Confetti drifts over patched denim as a lone party blower squeaks indignant applause for their secret audacious midnight mission.