Night had fallen over the suburban cul-de-sac, the distorted glow of birthday candles flickering through pastel curtains. Molly crouched beneath a plastic flamingo lawn guard, adjusting her oversized black gloves. Bill scouted the yard, his flashlight beam skittering over inflatable dinosaurs and a piñata hanging precariously from a patio pillar. The celebration inside swelled with uproarious laughter and the high-pitched squeals of hyperactive children. Molly checked her pocket watch and hissed to Bill, "We grab the teddy first." She plotted their route: slip past the snack table, round the punch bowl, avoid the vigilant aunt. Bill pointed. "It's sugar crack." Their eyes gleamed. They had already cased the inflatable pool obstacle course and mapped every plastic chair hiding a gift. Parents milled near the balloon arch, blissfully unaware of the impending burglary. Molly whispered, "Parents look stiff." She smirked at Bill's nod. "Fortune favors snacks," she quipped quietly. Outside, the night air pulsed with party popper echoes. Bill readjusted his mask. "Mission birthday." He tapped his earpiece. Molly glanced at her watch. "We run fast." She cracked a grin. Bill grinned back and whispered, "Ready?" Then they darted toward the back door. Moonlight winked as they fled amid muffled giggles.