Molly adjusted the ridiculous felt reindeer antlers perched on her head, their bells jingling with a maddening cheerfulness. Bill, attempting to look inconspicuous, had managed to squeeze himself into a pair of green tights that were currently losing a valiant battle against his thighs. The target was a house ablaze with fairy lights, the thumping bass of a toddler's dance mix vibrating through the pavement. From their vantage point behind a hedge that smelled suspiciously of damp dog, they surveyed the scene. A small army of children, hopped up on sugar, swarmed the manicured lawn. The presents were a mountain of gleaming paper and ribbons, piled high by the back door. It was a fortress of joy, and they were about to sack it. Bill nudged her, pointing a thick finger at a particularly large, gift-wrapped box on the top of the pile. Molly nodded, her eyes fixed on the prize. It was perfect. It was all theirs. She took a deep, steadying breath, the scent of buttercream icing and impending chaos filling her lungs. “Operation: Santa’s Sack is a go,” she whispered. Bill just grunted, already tugging his tights up.