Molly crouched behind a faded picnic table, balancing a neon green flashlight on her knee. She tapped her wrist device anxiously, eyes darting across the manicured lawn strewn with helium balloons and pastel streamers. Tonight was the night they would infiltrate the Joneses’ living room, slip past tiny partygoers, and vanish with every wrapped box. "Any last doubts?" Molly whispered, her voice trembling with excitement. "Just slight indigestion," Bill quipped, peering over her shoulder. Molly tapped the keypad hidden beneath a flower pot. The digital screen glowed red until she pressed the secret sequence. A muffled click echoed as the French doors unlocked. She opened them slowly, revealing a riot of color and sugary chaos. Half-eaten cupcakes sat abandoned beside gift towers sparkling with ribbon bows. Bill slipped inside, extending a black duffel bag. Bill whispered, "This is the steal of the century." Molly chuckled, "We deserve sugar just for surviving." Bill whispered, "Molly, we're in. Act casual." She gave a nod. Bill scooped up a blue parcel, wiping away torn wrapping paper. Molly winced at the crinkle of tissue. They tiptoed between plastic flamingos and folding chairs. A chorus of tiny shrieks rose as a clown announced magic tricks. A stream of children charged toward a chocolate fountain, teeth glinting with anticipation. "Perfect distraction," he murmured. Molly grinned, seizing a pile of presents and tossing them into the bag like popcorn. Molly backed toward the door, balancing a purple gift box tied with gold ribbon. Bill grabbed another stack and yanked the zipper closed with exaggerated flair. Then sirens wailed in the distance. "Time to vanish," Molly hissed. Bill dropped a party hat and danced a quick spin to distract gawking parents. Then they slipped into the night, leaving behind squealing kids and a baffled entertainer juggling balloons. The duffel bag bulged with loot and glitter. Molly patted Bill on the shoulder. "Next stop," she said, "the bake sale." They sank to the ground, panting and giggling. They divided the spoils under the dim streetlamp. Molly: “That was exhilarating. I think my heart needs therapy.” Bill: “Therapy is for people who underestimate toddler chaos.” Molly: “True. Should we wrap the loot before the cops arrive?” Bill: “Let’s sort by size and color. Efficiency is key.” Molly laughed: “Right. I’ll handle the big boxes; you grab the small ones.” Bill: “Got it. Did you snag the glitter bomb someone brought?” Molly: “Absolutely. It’s in the lining. We can sprinkle it at our next target.” Bill: “A glitter shriek is the ultimate diversion. Brilliant.” Bill: “I almost left it. That thing fetches a high price on the black market.” Molly: “We’ll need a safe house ready. I know a humid basement down the street.” Bill: “Perfect. After that, we celebrate with stolen cupcakes.” They high-fived wildly under blood-orange streetlamps, completely exuberant and excited. They planned their next grand midnight masterpiece, laughter trailing behind them like confetti together. Bill whispered, "Encore please."