Molly crouched behind the inflatable giraffe, surveying the lawn of pastel chairs and half-deflated balloons. She tapped her foot, her mask slipping over one eyebrow. Bill peered around the bounce house window, scanning the path to the gift table. Both partners in crime wore tiny tool belts stocked with scissors, glitter grenades, and fiber-optic party hats. A distant clown honked a horn, oblivious to their sinister mission. They exchanged silent nods; timing was everything. The cake cutting was scheduled in two minutes. After that, the children would screech and distract every adult within range. This was the perfect cover. Molly leafed through her mini blueprint, circles and arrows pointing straight to the piñata and neatly stacked presents. Bill adjusted his knee pads and swallowed. His heart thumped louder than a mariachi band. If they succeeded, they’d vanish with every wrapped box of crayons, dinosaurs, and hair clips. They waited for the magician’s grand finale, when smoke bombs would erupt and applause would burst. That second of chaos would open the door for their stealthy sweep of all brightly-wrapped treasures inside. Molly: "The guard is at ten." Bill: "We slide past, grab gifts." Molly: "No noise, no glitter bombs." Bill: "Perfect, see you inside quickly."