The blueprint was spread across Molly’s lap like a sacred text, rendered in crayon on the back of a pizza menu. Bill leaned over it, squinting at the wobbly lines that denoted the ‘garden of doom’ and the ‘moat of juice’. “According to my intelligence, which was gathered by eavesdropping at the checkout counter in Tesco, the target is a seven-year-old’s birthday party,” Molly whispered, her finger tracing a path from the hedge to the patio doors. “Security is light. One distracted parent, and the guard dog is a Corgi named Barnaby, reportedly more interested in naps than intruders.” Bill grunted, popping a sour gummy worm into his mouth. He’d been practicing his disguise for days. Today, he was a man in an ill-fitting suit and a bright green party hat that drooped over one ear. “Kids’ parties are chaos, Moll. It’s the perfect cover. But the payload… are we sure about this? It feels… undignified.” “Dignity doesn’t pay for our non-extradition country, Bill,” Molly retorted, patting a duffel bag at her feet. “Besides, it’s not about the presents themselves. It’s about the principle. The sheer, unadulterated greed. A mountain of wrapped goods, just sitting there. It’s an affront to lazy criminals everywhere.” Their plan was simple, elegant in its stupidity. Bill was to create a diversion. Molly would infiltrate, secure the goods, and exfiltrate through the conservatory window they’d jimmied open an hour ago. The getaway vehicle, a sensible Vauxhall, was parked two streets over, its boot already lined with tarpaulin. “Right,” Bill said, cracking his knuckles. “Phase one: The Disturbance. I’m thinking I challenge the birthday boy to a dance-off. I’ll bust out the worm. It’s awkward, hypnotic, and guaranteed to clear a ten-foot radius.” “Excellent. I’ll be in position by the bouncy castle. That’s where they’re stockpiling the loot,” Molly confirmed, pulling a pair of black gloves from her pocket. “Remember, we’re not monsters. We leave the cake. A thief has to have a code.” Bill straightened his droopy hat with a renewed sense of purpose. “So, we grab the goods and make a break for it, leaving a trail of confused children and one very defeated seven-year-old in my dust?” “Precisely,” Molly said, a grin spreading across her face. “Now, let’s go ruin a birthday. For queen and country.”