Rædnael was feeling sick.

He wished it had been something he ate, or that he came down with an actual illness, but no. Every time he thought about meeting with Lionel - about even leaving his apartment - his inside would twist and seize up.

But the worst part of it was that he couldn't avoid it anymore. The Moray got a hold of his number and were demanding he'd get them information, not caring for any excuses of sickness, insisting that he can use it for pity points with Lionel so he'd let his guard down. He felt even more scummy doing that over text, feeling like he couldn't even summon the strength to use the disguise artifact, much less maintain it. Even if he could somehow hold through, no disguise would mask how sickly miserable he looked, and surely Lionel would be asking questions, and he couldn't bear hiding any more from him, not when it could be so harmful to him. To both of them.

Was avoiding the scummy feeling worth the risk, though?

They knew where he lived. Even if not the exact apartment, it wouldn't take long for them to find it. And Lionel seemed to be known among demons, if Adder's comments were anything to go by. If they did stalk him at the plaza, they'll know what he looks like without his uniform, too. But if he'd act as a spy, Lionel could still get hurt, along with the rest of his unit. Even the nice lady, Sofia...is anyone that's been nice to him destined to get hurt? What would that mean for Heks and Adder, then?

Or maybe...maybe he'd be let off after paying back for the incarceration of the other Moray. What if he managed to give them what they want, deliver something from point A to B without getting caught, and then go ahead and get his coveted legal job and...leave Las Flores? Tell Lionel it's not working out? Move away from what little comforting familiarity he had?

The sound of incoming messages pierced through his heart like steel needles, cold and unforgiving. The Moray demanded him to show proof of contacting Lionel if he insisted on being "too sick to leave", threatening again with consequences if he didn't supply such evidence soon.

Nearly puncturing his bottom lip into bleeding as he bit down on it, Rædnael grabbed his other phone, opening his texts with Lionel. Fingers shaking over the screen, he picked up on their last exchange where he told Lionel he was feeling unwell, claiming to have too much time to think and worry, asking if demons ever tried to sneak into the station to free their arrested companions, or to just wreak havoc.

No wonder the Moray would want to know that in particular, and they knew it'll line up with his hesitation of visiting the place. At least it meant that Lionel might not start getting suspicious right away.

Waiting for what felt to him like long, tantalizing hours, Rædnael was surprised to get a response from Lionel after what turned out to be only a couple of minutes. Might've been a slow day.

> oh that's easy, all stations are lined with warding sigils connected to silent alarms. it's not stopping anyone physically, but it's gonna let the whooooole station know hehe

Rædnael let out a sigh of relief, both at Lionel not questioning the sudden interest, as well as knowing that there was no way to sneak inside in disguise. Good thing he never thought of visiting in the first place.

That wasn't the only thing the Moray wanted to know, though.

They wanted more inside information, things that don't get to the news or to the general public for days and weeks after they happen within the forces. Things like raids and heists, newly developed ADA equipment, sometimes even just names of officers.

He tried telling them that there was no chance to dub this kind of information out from Lionel, but they insisted.

Rædnael tried his best to figure out how to go about it without asking directly and out himself and his...no, the Moray's intentions. How well could they handle a first-class exile on Tar? With how many people involved? Are there any sharp-shooters in his unit? What was his favorite ADA issued equipment?

Every single one of these questions already felt like it was prying too much, and he prayed - to whichever entity that may spare him - that it can be dismissed by him just being concerned. Or feverish. Or both.

> you're being awfully curious today ',:)

> did you go for a nap and dream about joining the police force?

> because we do have a pretty good sick leave

> but you know I can go into details even if I wanted to, if you don't have the clearance

> even journalists don't get to know all that

Rædnael sighed, thankful for Lionel sticking up to the rules about sharing information. And to make sure the Moray knew that too, he took a screenshot of the conversation to send them, mentioning that pushing too far would only raise suspicion faster.

As frustrating as it might've been to them, they at least realized that they'd lose him as an asset if he pressed too far, too soon. So they let it go.

For now.

But this was only the beginning of him paying back his debt.

He'd have to leave the house eventually. And this eventuality was tonight, by the Moray's follow up text. This meant he had to reign himself past the sickly feeling deep in his chest and get a hold of some clothes that would obscure him as much as possible. Maybe he could collect some from his neighbors, saying it's for work or something.

While trying to figure out how to go about it, his phone pinged again, this time from one of the potential employers, particularly from the cleaning one. They said it's a simple enough job that he can come in for a trial shift...tomorrow evening.

He swallowed, hands shaking again as he stared at his phone.

Maybe it'll work.

If he really manages to get the Moray off his back after tonight with no incident, maybe we could meet with Lionel before meeting with his new employer. One last time, to say he'd be away. One last hug, perhaps, if he'd be lucky.

He texted the employer back to confirm that he'll be there tomorrow and they set an hour, and then texted Lionel on his other phone about meeting tomorrow evening - which he quickly accepted.

Still unsure of whether this was making him feel more anxious or if he felt even the slightest bit of solace at this potential light at the end of the tunnel, Rædnael was left to hope that this light wasn't an oncoming train barreling straight at him.

As night fell on the demon district and the dim, foreboding lights came on to do very little to light the gradually emptying streets, Rædnael snuck out of his apartment to get to the meeting point.

It wasn't even sneaking in the manner of just quietly going out, but not even using his door. Instead he left out the window leading to the fire escape, and then climbing up to the roof and moving between rooftops for a few blocks before sliding back down and away from the main street to keep going.

He managed to get a few different articles of clothing that he managed to layer up, all dark enough to let him blend into the darker corners of the streets and into the alleyways, changing his silhouette to look bulkier. However, the jacket and coat that made the outermost layers were made of a thicker, more rigid material that weighed heavy on his scrawny shoulders, having him sacrifice his mobility for being stealthy and protected. While he could probably ditch these layers in favor of a quick escape, he'd hate not being able to return them to their proper owners.

Once getting to the meeting point, he was approached by another exile wrapped in dark clothes as well, unable to even tell what class they belonged to, with only the glaring red eyes behind their shades disclosing the fact they were an exile at all.

There were no words exchanged, and Rædnael was simply handed a small satchel he could strap between his layers, as the courier scurried away. The satchel reeked of a sharp scent of demon blood, there was no mistaking it. It wasn't yet decayed, but since it likely wasn't treated with preservatives, time was of the essence, perhaps thanks to those vials being taken at the Withering Lilly.

Rædnael swallowed as he tried his best to keep the smell from making him nauseous, feeling like he was a walking crime scene. 'Well...I am, in sense...' he thought to himself as he tightened his coat around the satchel, hoping the smell wouldn't be as strong. And that he'll have enough hot water in the shower to wash it out.

Rædnael did his best to keep his pace steady, slowing to a casual walk when he happened to walk by other exiles, and picking up the pace once the coast was clear to get to his destination as soon as he could, taking back alleys when he could so he could move faster through them, with no one being around, despite being more of a detour than a shortcut. He wasn't getting paid for it anyway, may as well make sure that he's as safe as he could be while delivering the goods.

About halfway to his destination, Rædnael's heart nearly stopped in his chest at the sound of a patrol car on the main street. Judging by the car's relatively slow speed, it seemed to be more of a routine patrol than actively looking for someone. Or something. Still, he wasn't about to risk being a suspect, and shifted to move into an alley, ducking behind a dumpster and putting a hand to his mouth and nose to cover from the rancid smell, listening to the patrolling car through the blood rushing in his ears, turning almost deafening as it slowed down by the alley. A light shone from the car's window as one of the officers leaned out, flooding the path with a bright beam of light as a voice from inside claimed to have seen something, but another one said it was probably just a dog, turning the lights off. Joking that the stray would just turn into a meal soon anyway, they rolled the window back up and drove away.

"We don't eat dogs..." Rædnael muttered, feeling bile rising in his throat as the thought alone was combined with the foul smells around him, with the blood in particular making him feel ill at this point.

Once making sure he won't throw up as soon as he gets to his feet, the halfling took off through the back alleys again, trying his best to run under the heavy weight of his outer layers to make up for lost time, and make something of that adrenaline kick from being so close to getting caught.

Whichever lucky stars that were keeping him safe while the patrol went by have stayed by his side through the rest of the way. By the time he got to the refinery he was meant to deliver the blood to, he was sweating and woozy, and his whole body ached like he was carrying a whole other person on his back. With not getting any payment, he only briefly stayed so the receiver would make sure the blood is legit and in the right condition before they sent him away, notifying the Moray it is done.

Dragging himself back home through the back alleys, just in case, Rædnael realized he'd have to wash all the clothes before turning them back, and hopefully no one would miss them for another day or two. It felt like walking the streets through the whole night, and when finally getting into the shower after shedding layer after layer of clothes on the floor, the feeling of water washing the night away almost left him falling asleep while standing up.

Soon crawling back into bed and curling under the blankets, he was thankful for not having anything to do until the next night.

He'll need all the rest he could to face Lionel again, perhaps for the last time.

"You're...leaving Las Flores?"

The shock in Lionel's eyes made Rædnael feel sicker than the demon blood did, but it was still easier to hide - or at least make it easier to chalk it off to his own genuine sorrow.

"I'm sorry...I got this new job, and it's in the next city over," Rædnael apologized, looking down, "we could still text, but...I might not have time to commute here so often." He paused for a long moment before looking back up to Lionel. "I'm really going to miss you."

"And I'll miss you too," Lionel pouted, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm glad we got to hang out one more time, but if I'd known I would've gotten you a parting gift to remember me by."

"Oh, it's really quite alright, we—"

"Actually...I might have something for you to remember me by," Lionel's pout morphed into a smile.

Rædnael looked back to him, confused. "What...what's that?"

"Close your eyes."