Shadows slithered under the picket fence as Molly and Bill crouched behind a stack of plastic chairs. A pale moon lit the backyard strewn with colorful streamers and half deflated balloons. Rain dribbled from a dripping pergola, creating a steady rhythm. Gifts wrapped in bright paper glowed on a picnic table. The soft thump of children laughing and squealing drifted through a window, promising chaos within. Molly tapped her foot, eyeing the gleaming pile. Bill peered at a bowl of punch, corks popping in the distance. They inhaled the scent of frosting and confetti. Tension coiled like a silent spring. Molly: "This party is our golden ticket to fortune. We sneak in, grab every gift, and vanish before the chaos strikes." Bill: "Got it. I’ll distract the sugar-rushed mob with a loud crash. You slip past the punch bowl and head for the table." Molly: "If the cat intervenes, I’ll offer treats. She moves faster than we do." Bill: "Children’s monkeys and action figures are the jackpot. Don’t forget to check under the wrapping for hidden cash envelopes." Molly: "After we collect, we meet by the willow at midnight. Quick gloves, no fingerprints." Bill: "Happy heisting. Party favors can wait but our haul can’t wait. Endgame."