Moonlight slanted through the lace curtains as Molly and Bill crouched behind a row of potted ferns on the back porch of 15 Evergreen Lane. The summer air smelled of melted candle wax and birthday frosting. Somewhere inside, giggles echoed, punctured by the whack of a piñata. An entire living room fortress of brightly wrapped boxes lined one corner. Molly checked her timer—eight minutes before the piñata shattered and kids launched into a sugar frenzy. Bill adjusted the velvet sack and peered through the window. He could almost taste the bonus: gourmet chocolates and a remote-controlled helicopter, ripe for resale. Ear-splitting shrieks punctuated each drumbeat from inside, and a cone of rainbow confetti shot through the air whenever a party leader turned. Bill’s watch beeped faintly—a reminder that every second they hesitated risked reinforcements: chatty neighbors, suspicious deliverymen. Sprigs of ivy danced around the porch rail, disguising their silhouette. The faint aroma of vanilla cupcakes drifted upward, promising the sweetest chaos. Molly’s hand slid inside her coat pocket, feeling the cool metal of a small remote. She cast a sidelong glance at Bill, whose twitching eyebrow betrayed excitement, possibly an impending sugar crash. Bill: "Are you sure the kid’s mom left the back door unlocked tonight?" Molly: "She texts like a teenager; forgets everything. Tomorrow she’ll wonder why her router is outside." Molly tapped the screen of her phone, micromanaging every security sensor. Bill half expected the door to inform them through an automated shout. Instead, silence. Molly shrugged. It took a moment for Bill to imagine a wall plug wrapped in gingerbread paper. Then he joined the laugh that threatened to unhinge his stealth reputation. They moved in a crouch, slippered feet whispering on the deck boards. Molly pulled a pair of fuzzy clown shoes from her bag. Bill: "We take the loot, grab cookies, run before anyone notices one present missing." Molly: "Cookies are decoys. The real treasure is that electronic drum set, plus a mountain of Legos." Cookies rattled. Bill’s eyes gleamed. He tapped the glass. Inside the party raged in full swing—a fog machine, helium balloons drifting like confused clouds, sticky hands everywhere. Bill: "What if someone spots us? Kids have eyes like laser pointers." Molly sighed theatrically. Molly: "We’ll distract them with balloons. Slip in disguised as clowns. No one suspects the clowns." Bill glanced at her face painted with unauthorized clown swagger. Bill: "Clown makeup stains. Remember that warehouse fiasco? We looked like we fought a rainbow." Molly: "This time we’ll use the hypoallergenic kit. No blotchy skin reveals." Bill tested the zipper on his oversized coat. Bill: "Alright, gloves on, bag open, we move like ninjas... well-fed, caffeinated ninjas." Molly snapped her phone. Molly: "And in and out before the cake cuts. Ready?" Bill: "Remember to disable the security camera feed on your phone before midnight." Molly: "Gotcha—I'll show you the app trick, then we'll be in tech heaven." With a synchronized nod, the pair slipped through the unlocked door and into a sugar-fueled chaos that awaited their comedic crime spree.