And right he was.

If there's one thing us humans have that can be seen as innate magic is gut feeling. That, and placebo.

Lionel found out he wasn't the only one that felt that the Tar heist wasn't an isolated incident, with the Las Flores police force spreading a network of informants to try and catch more refining attempts like their recent bust. The findings came soon, and they were concerning.

The Leviathan's refinery was only the beginning, as there seemed to have been several attempts in erecting these "micro refineries", makeshift mechanisms that could be easily and temporarily built in small places, used to refine small batches of demon blood into Tar, enough for one, maybe two vials at a time, if the process is seen to its end, and disposing of any evidence once it does.

It was yet to be determined if these were coordinated, or whether the idea simply spread through a word of mouth and brought to fruition by individual, unrelated teams, but neither of these options was a good one, so Las Flores created dedicated forces to target any location or individuals suspected of being involved in this ordeal in hopes of stopping this trend altogether.

Some demons who realized they were being tracked have been using disguise spells to throw the search units off, typically sneaking into the mixed districts while appearing to be humans, usually meeting to exchange information or goods, away from prying eyes and ears.

After being ridiculed for it, Lionel's keen attention to disguise markers on demons using that spell proved to be valuable in spotting these hideaway demons from a safe distance, allowing units to approach and question them. Thanks to that, Lionel got the good reputation he was after and was taken along to several small-scale investigations, although it didn't completely stop the teasing from the different teams he had joined.

He just got better at brushing it off.

The Withering Lilly was a bar in one of the demon districts, ironically named by its owner as a jab at the city itself, playing off its symbol of the daylily flower, that has been incorporated into many of its signage and emblems, representing the city itself as well as its civil servants, as the flower as present on the police force's insignia as well.

Lionel was sitting in the back of a police cruiser heading to the bar, as it's been reported that it's a place frequented by traders and exiles trying to do business under the radar. A dimly lit place with a lot of noise sure felt like a great place to do shady business. Even though there won't be demons disguised as humans deep within their territory, Lionel was still perceived as a good judge of character in spotting suspicious behavior, even among demons, and may be able to spot if any of the bar's patrons is acting...off.

It's been a month since the first Tar heist, and more frequent patrols in the demon districts became a common sight, so no one was really surprised to see patrolling humans every now and then, and other than some side glances no exile really interacted with them and simply went along their way unless addressed.

After all, if one doesn't have anything to hide, they'll have no reason to run.

As they stepped out of the car and headed towards the bar, Lionel rubbed the metal pendant under his uniform, taking a deep breath as he tried to adjust to the thought of walking into a room full of liquored up demons, trying to take the edge of his nerves.

"You know that doesn't work on those exiles, right Whiskers?" the team's Captain laughed, firmly patting Lionel's back, "crucifix was the first thing we tried against those hell spawns, didn't do shit!"

"I know, lay off," Lionel grumbled, batting the Captain's hand off. "It's a sentimental thing, keeps me calm. Focused," he emphasized, not looking at his new superior. The cross on his necklace was a family heirloom given to him by his parents when he joined the forces. For protection, they said, although they knew just as well that it does nothing to ward off the exiles. It was the same as having it as a good luck charm. He has already been through this whole story with Sofia, but with him joining different patrols each time, she was no longer his only commander, and in fact he got to see her less and less. With him sometimes patrolling with a unit just as a one-time thing, he didn't even bother to tell the story all over again.

Just a waste of time.

The music inside was far from hellish, and was pretty much in line with what was popular in the humans' clubs and bars, but what set it apart was the smell of liquor, strong enough to smell like disinfectant mixed with sugar, citrus or smoke. Or all of them combined.

"Come on half-pipe, look alive!"

In a booth next to the wall across from the entrance to the club, three exiles were seated over their drinks. Two of them with a bulkier build had their glasses nearly emptied, while another one, looking almost like a human with short wavy horns and a small fang poking past his lips, and his thin arrow-headed tail was curled around his leg as he tried to convince himself that another sip would eventually calm him down more than make him nauseous.

"Look Rædnael, no one even bats an eye at a halfling," one of the larger ones said with his hand slamming against the table, sending ebbs through the drink in the glass, "you just get these two vials of preservatives across town, collect your money and split! Even your kind can handle that, I'm sure."

Doing his best not to writhe under the insults very thinly veiled as banter, Rædnael pursed his lips and tried to get over the dryness in his throat that even chugging the content of his glass would alleviate. "And...h-how much is that, again?" he asked, trying desperately to sound interested, and not like he was gradually regretting accepting this offer as minutes ticked by.

"Plenty. Enough to take care of your finances for a while," one of the demons grinned a mouthful of fangs, thin like ivory needles. "Maybe you'll even get a nice bonus if you step on it, eh?"

"Yeah, normally you'd get a sample of the good stuff, but...heh, you poor saps can't handle it, can ya? Makes ya sick," the other one jeered, as Rædnael fumbled with his glass to take another sip, coughing a bit as it burned down his throat.

"That...sick is an understatement," the halfling cleared his throat. "More like...lethally poisoned..."

"So you get paid the equivalent of a full dose in cash," the needle-teeth demon reiterated. "So? What'd you say, half-pipe?"

The doors to the Withering Lilly opened and the music almost immediately faded as four armed officers walked inside, scanning the club for any suspicious reactions to their presence.

Walking at the front of the group, Lionel cracked a vial of Shrapnel and inhaled deeply, allowing him to focus and process the sights and sounds in the crowded club, giving him a more dominating presence despite his younger features and smaller stature compared to the veteran officers in the unit.

Even with the music off, most of the patrons kept to themselves, those who were dancing or engaging in bar games grabbed a seat, and those who were already seated mostly returned to their drinks and kept chatting quietly to not draw any attention to themselves.

The officers' heavy boots echoed against the hard floor as they crossed the room, before Lionel paused and brought the unit to a halt, looking to a booth where three exiles sat, seeing two second-class exiles glare daggers back at him while the third was still sitting with his back to the officers, hands tightly wrapped around his drink.

Lionel knew the needle-teeth exiles had been targeted as involved in Tar production and asked for two of the officers to investigate, while he approached the demon left in the booth, who didn't look like he could possibly be anything above a third-class exile. Lionel could take him on even without being Sharp. "ID," he demanded, holding his hand out.

The demon looked up at him for a moment like he didn't speak the language before fumbling to get past his own tail to his pockets to pull out his documents, handing the officer his identification.

The young officer took the ID card, wrinkling his nose. "Halfling, huh?" he scoffed, seeing the demon nod, pointed ear twitching ever so slightly. "Hm...Ra...Ra-ehd..."

"It's Raidnah-el...sir," he mumbled, staring down at his drink. "Rædnael Quillon, sir."

Lionel hummed, handing the ID back and watching the halfling timidly taking it back, slowly as if avoiding any sudden movement.

"Looks like you three are pretty friendly," Lionel muttered, gesturing to the other demons being interrogated by his fellow officers, "got anything to do with them?"

"I...n-no, officer, I don't. I was...I was just about to leave," Rædnael stammered, having to de-tangle his own tail from around his leg again to slip his documents back in his pocket, doing his best to not make eye contact and not rip at the fabric with his shaking claws. "In-in fact, I'll be out of your way and—"

Just as he tried to get up, the halfling felt the hard tap of a baton against his shoulder, stopping him mid-rise. "You sure are nervous for someone having a nice time at a bar," Lionel looked him over, moving his baton under the halfling's chin to make him look up, sending a chill down his spine as the specialized ADA coating made contact with the exposed skin, and even more as Rædnael's reflective eyes met with the officer's cold gaze, silver veins shining across his brown irises – one of the distinct telling signs of a human under the effect of Shrapnel. "Looks to me like you're hiding something."

"I- No!" the halfling flinched back at his own raised voice. "We were...we were just talking, and...it's getting late, I should go home—"

"No one leaves without getting searched," Lionel cut him off again, moving the baton away, signaling the halfling to stand. Even on his feet and in his hunched position, Rædnael was slightly taller than Lionel, but still looked like he was cowering in front of a predator twice his size. "You say you're not hiding anything, so...come on, arms up."

The halfling swallowed, straightening up and putting his arms to the sides, doing his best to keep his breath from shaking as it quickly became clear there were more and more eyes on him now that an officer had signaled him out. Moving his tail from his leg to coil around his waist to not obstruct his pockets, Rædnael did his best not to squirm as he was patted down, wishing this would end soon so it'll serve as the best kind if excuse to—

"What's this?"

The halfling's heart nearly stopped as he felt Lionel pulling something out for his pocket, opposite to where his ID was in, raising two vials filled with murky liquid, with a handwritten label on them reading 'T.Pres'.

"Looks like something to take to a Tar lab," Lionel's voice was sharp and threatening, as he put them into his tactical vest where they wouldn't break. "Care to explain?"

"I- I don't...it's n-not," Rædnael stuttered, feeling a nauseating lump in his throat as he glanced behind the officer to see the other demons he's been talking to flashing their fangs in a mischievous grin, long tails writhing behind them. His own breathing became like gritting sandpaper in his ears and the room seemed to slowly spin around him as realization dawned on him.

"Nice excuse, best one I've ever heard," Lionel said as he took out a pair of handcuffs. "Rædnael Quillon, you're coming with me—" barely even finishing his sentence, Lionel saw the halfling turn to flee in panic. "COME BACK HERE!" he barked, immediately giving chase, not even calling back-up, leaving the other officers to report the ensuing chase.

Not knowing if he should be grateful for Lionel being determined enough to chase him by foot or scared that he's giving chase in the first place, Rædnael ran as fast as his legs took him, as fast as he ever did.

He couldn't run home.

He couldn't run to anyone for help.

He could only keep on running.