The inflatable castle hissed rhythmically under the suburban moon, a vinyl beast awaiting its final breath. Bill adjusted his night-vision goggles, which were currently being impeded by the elastic strap of a toddler’s birthday hat he wore as camouflage. He checked his pockets, ensuring the silenced bubble blower was primed for any sudden movement from the neighbor’s Golden Retriever. Behind him, Molly was busy greasing her elbows with premium butter to ensure a frictionless glide through the pet flap. She looked at the sprawling pile of brightly wrapped boxes visible through the patio doors, her eyes glittering with the cold calculation of a woman who knew exactly which packages contained high-resale LEGO sets. Is the distraction ready? Bill asked. Molly checked her watch and smirked at the darkness. The pony has been released, she whispered. Right on cue, a panicked whinny echoed from the next street over, followed by the frantic shouting of a very confused party clown. The chaos provided the perfect window. Bill signaled with a gloved thumb, and they crept toward the sliding glass door, careful to avoid the tactical minefield of discarded juice boxes. This was the big one; if they played their cards right, they would be drowning in plushies by dawn.