Molly adjusted her climbing harness beneath the pastel unicorn costume while Bill studied satellite imagery of the McAllister backyard on his burner phone. The bouncy castle loomed like an inflatable fortress, casting long shadows over the gift table where forty-seven wrapped boxes awaited their liberation. Through the kitchen window, they watched seven-year-olds assaulting a papier-mâché donkey with disturbing enthusiasm and aluminum baseball bats. "We're really doing this?" Bill whispered, sweat beading beneath his clown wig. "Quiet. Target's three feet from the door. Move fast." "Got it. Stay low." "And don't trip." Bill nodded, his squeaky oversized shoes betraying their position behind the hydrangea bushes. Inside, the magician had begun his finale, distracting the horde of sugar-crazed children with a velvet top hat and gestures. When the white dove flew out in a flurry of wings, they moved. Slipping through the unlocked door, they grabbed their empty duffel bags and began shoveling in LEGO sets and Barbies with practiced efficiency. The golden retriever wearing a party hat merely watched, tail wagging, as two grown adults in ridiculous costumes fled across the lawn clutching booty. They vaulted just as the birthday boy opened his present—an empty box filled with regret and a note that read: "Better luck next year, kid."