Molly and Bill crouched behind a cluster of helium balloons bobbing near a pasty pink wall. Inside the decorated hall, laughter and the scrape of tiny chairs signaled chaos in progress. They exchanged a last glance. Tonight’s target was a festival of sugar, glitter, and juvenile obsession: the birthday party of seven-year-old Trixie McPherson, complete with cake, confetti, and a towering stack of presents that could fuel a small country’s toy industry. Molly tapped her wrist. A miniature speaker crackled holiday tunes. Bill adjusted his black gloves, eyes darting to the cake table, where an unblinking golden retriever snoozed amidst frosting crumbs. Every party guard wore fur and furiously wagged a tail. The scent of vanilla and icing hung heavy, masking sneaky footsteps. “Behold, tonight we sneak into the fortress of sugar and glitter to claim the mother lode of gift-wrapped wonders,” said Molly. “Do you have the list? We cannot grab Aunt Clara’s educational puzzle for little Timothy,” Bill whispered. “Relax, I swapped Aunt Clara’s puzzle for a blank box scribbled with crayon. No one suspects a thing,” Molly replied. “What about the flaming piñata shaped like a dragon? I promised Little Sophie I would smash it,” Bill asked. “I rerouted it to the dryer downstairs. It’s spinning with balloons and confetti inside, ready to erupt on demand,” Molly explained. “Brilliant. Now, how do we slip past the cake table guard dog?” Bill wondered. “Don’t worry. I trained him with cheese. He thinks we are the caterers with extra brie,” Molly assured. “After that, we haul every treat and gadget into the getaway wagon disguised as a bouncy castle?” Bill questioned. “Exactly. Bounce and roll, leaving Trixie’s rubber duckies to float harmlessly while we vanish with the treasure,” Molly confirmed. Molly signaled. They skulked forth beneath a banner proclaiming HAPPY BIRTHDAY in glittering letters. A cluster of toddlers armed with balloons rolled toward them like tiny bowling pins. Bill sidestepped a squeaky trike. He mumbled something about traffic and spilled juice. Molly suppressed a giggle, planting a vacuum device under a chair to capture rolling party favors. Inside, tables groaned under the weight of wrapped boxes in every hue. Sparkly bows peeked like hidden gems. They plotted routes and diversion tactics. A server carrying grape juice spilled a purple river across the floor. Bill handed Molly a microfiber towel to absorb the mess. The distraction proved perfect. Throughout the hall, the Munchkin Brigade chomped chicken nuggets and assembled craft projects. A magician in a top hat unleashed white rabbits that hopped into corners and vanished. Amid the enchantment, Molly and Bill slipped through a cloud of balloons and reached the prize rack. Grinning, they hoisted bags bulging with toys. When the time came, they backed away with the stealth of ninjas trained in kleptomania, leaving behind only squeals and popped confetti. The party raged on obliviously. With hearts pounding and pockets heavy, Molly flicked her gumshoe radio and whispered the victory code. Bill offered her a congratulatory elbow bump as they melted into the night, dragging the spoils of their confectionary conquest toward the waiting getaway wagon.