The inflatable castle hissed with the rhythmic sigh of a dying beast in the suburban garden. Molly adjusted her tactical goggles, which were currently reflecting the neon glare of a juice box fountain. She checked her watch, crouching behind a topiary bush that smelled faintly of dog urine and expensive fertilizer. Across the patio, Bill was disguised as a very disgruntled mahogany clown, his oversized shoes squeaking with every stealthy step toward the gift pile. The mountain of brightly wrapped boxes shimmered under the disco lights, a jackpot of plastic fire trucks and overpriced dollhouses. Bill gestured wildly at a particularly large parcel wrapped in shimmering dinosaur paper, his face painted in a permanent grimace of joy. Molly signaled back with a sharp hand motion, indicating the perimeter guards—three toddlers armed with sticky fingers and sugar-induced tunnel vision. The stakes were high, mostly because the bouncy castle was liable to collapse on their escape route at any moment. Bill leaned in, whispering through a thick layer of white greasepaint and sadness. You sure about the distraction? Molly pulled the pin on a concentrated glitter grenade. Just watch the cake.