Molly crouched behind the rhododendron, adjusting the earpiece with a precision that betrayed the absurdity of the mission. "Target is in sight. The bouncy castle is inflated." "I can’t believe I agreed to this," Bill hissed into his microphone, wrestling with a oversized duffel bag. "I’m a cat burglar, Molly. I steal emeralds from penthouses. I do not steal plushies from a six-year-old named Timmy." "Desperate times call for desperate measures," Molly replied sharply, her eyes scanning the suburban lawn. "And that’s a high-end bouncy castle. It means the parents have money. The payload in that living room is probably eighty percent electronics." "It’s mostly noise-making toys, Molly. The goal of a heist is to get rich, not to get a migraine." "Stop whining. We need a tactical approach to the gift table. It’s guarded by a Labrador." "A what?" "A Golden Retriever. He looks sleepy, but he’s positioned right in front of the LEGO haul." "I’m not tackling a dog." "Then you distract him. I have a squeaky bone in the utility belt." "You came prepared." "I’m a professional. Now, here’s the plan. You create a diversion at the snack table. Spill the punch." "The red or the blue?" "The red. It stains. Absolute chaos. While the moms panic about the rug, I slide in, bag the presents, and we exfil through the patio doors." "What if one of the kids asks for my autograph?" "Give them a fake one. Sign it 'Santa.'" "That’s sick." "That’s business. Wait, movement. The clown is arriving." "Oh god, clowns," Bill groaned. "I hate this job." "The clown is a wild card. If he starts making balloon animals, the children will swarm. That’s our cover. We move when the balloon poodle is finished." "I still think we should just knock over a liquor store like normal criminals." "Liquor stores have cameras and security guards. This place has a piñata and a dad wearing a 'World’s Okayest Golfer' t-shirt. We’re practically stealing candy from a baby." "Well, technically..." "Shut up and get ready to spill the punch. On my mark. Three, two, one."