Molly chewed her lip, a habit that usually preceded either a brilliant plan or an unfortunate run-in with a particularly sticky lollipop. “So, the bouncy castle is a no-go?” Bill, ever the pragmatist, wiped a smudge of what he hoped was chocolate from his forehead. “Unless you fancy tumbling into a foam pit of screaming toddlers, yes, it’s a no-go. The security systems on those inflatables are surprisingly robust these days.” He gestured to a crudely drawn map spread across the greasy cafe table. “Access point one: the kitchen window. Guarded by a woman in an apron who bakes with the fury of a thousand suns and likely carries a rolling pin the size of a small redwood.” Molly grimaced. “Been there, done that. My last pastry-related incident resulted in a sprained ankle and a lifelong aversion to rhubarb crumble.” She tapped a finger on the map, her gaze fixed on a section labelled ‘Present Pile – Supervised by Unicorn Pony’. “What about the pony?” Bill sighed. “It's a small child in a unicorn costume, Molly. Not an actual mythical beast with a built-in security system.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “The real challenge is Mrs. Henderson and her obsession with party etiquette. She practically breathes the scent of unwrapped gifts.” "So, tactical distraction? Clown with a unicycle fire-eating display?" Molly grinned, a glint in her eye. "I know a guy."