The balloons bobbed lazily above the backyard like overinflated sentinels, their pastel colors clashing with the grim determination in Molly’s eyes. She adjusted her glittery party hat—*disguise*, she called it—while Bill fiddled with the lock on the gate, his fingers slipping on the cheap plastic latch. “You’re taking too long,” Molly hissed, nudging him with her elbow. “We’ve got, like, twenty minutes before the piñata explodes and the kids start crying. That’s our window.” Bill wiped his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge of dirt on his forehead. “I’m working with *childproof* security here, Mol. This thing’s got a *smiley face* on it. You think I’m some kind of monster?” “Yes,” she said flatly. “Also, you’re sweating on the evidence. Wipe your face.” “It’s *hot*,” he groaned, finally popping the latch open with a satisfying *click*. “And I’m wearing a *fanny pack*. Do you know how unbreathable these things are?” Molly rolled her eyes and shoved past him, already scanning the table of wrapped presents like a vulture eyeing roadkill. “Focus. We grab the big ones first—those are the iPads. Then we hit the LEGO sets, the Nerf guns, the—” “—the *My Little Pony* collection?” Bill interrupted, holding up a sparkly pink box with a grin. Molly snatched it from his hands and hurled it into the bushes. “We are *not* fencing unicorn toys, Bill. Stick to the electronics.” “You’re no fun,” he muttered, but he was already stuffing a gaming console into his fanny pack, the zipper straining like it was about to give birth. “Hey, Mol? What if there’s a *bounce house* in there?” She didn’t even look up from the loot. “Then we set it on fire and call it a distraction.”