Sheep in Wolves' Clothing

Chapter 1

    There was a rhythmic clacking and snapping of mechanical assembly throughout the rust-kissed depths of a suburban warehouse. Long, metal tables arranged in rows across the concrete flooring were filled with scrawny humans who miserably labored to assemble various forms of firearms. Other tables were dedicated to packing the weapons’ corresponding ammo. One particular table was solely responsible for a single task: tinning the bullets with silver.
     Staggered around the workshop were large men and women who looked plainly muscular in comparison to the workers they supervised. They scrutinized the assemblers with vigilant eyes, ensuring efficiency and submission. One would think it odd that not a single guard bothered to equip a firearm while on duty, but they were well aware of their superior strength and ferocity over the assemblers they lorded.
     Werewolves, lycanthropes, beasts of the moon; call them what you will, as it was all synonymous to one thing: superhuman. These cryptids ruled over labyrinthian streets in the otherwise human city of Neo Atlas.
     Let the humans and other cryptids have their daytime lifestyles, advancing technology and building their concrete forests; the night belonged to the werewolves, who found leverage in the criminal organizations of city gangs, using their pack tactics to rule the streets. Drugs and weapons were the easiest to peddle. Their endless demand produced what the humans and dragons cherished most: money. With new technologies came new ways to fight, and when multiple werewolf packs began to seek dominance over Neo Atlas, they began to use these new technologies against each other.
     Lead bullets and steel blades can damage, sure, but werewolves heal quickly and return to the fight within minutes. Wound them with silver, however, and watch their strength falter; perhaps even dissolve. The ruthlessness of some packs required fighting fire with fire, despite anyone's moral desires.
     Squealing metal signaled the emergence of a tall, bulky man with a narrow waist as he entered the workshop area. His snowy white hair, buzzed into a fade with wisps of thick bangs that swept just over his eyebrows, was a contrast to the bleak atmosphere of aged steel. He barely passed under the doorway without having to duck. Arrogance poured off of this young man like he had just stepped out of a hot shower; his striking blue eyes held a narrow, squared gaze as they dared anyone to question his pride. Who would? He was handsome, at prime mating age, and one of Nisus' strongest fighters; a Captain who earned every ounce of his rank with grit.
     "Why isn't the cargo ready?" The white-haired Captain tramped up to the nearest guard, gripping him by the collar with a fierce snarl. His squared jaws clenched with the anxiety that he masked with rage. He had a tight schedule, and his last few shipments had gone to shit. "I swear, if I get fucked over again-"
     "The last crate is getting filled now, Kona," there was no hiding the sheer terror in the guard's voice. He stood on his toes, trying to remain somewhat grounded as the Captain lifted him up.
     Before Kona could snap a comment about the crate needing to have been filled fifteen minutes ago, the whirring of a power drill cut him off. He dropped his grip on the guard, turning his head to witness the final crate being screwed shut by one of the quality inspectors. "Get that shit loaded on the truck now!" He barked and stomped his way over to the stacks of crates.
      With ease, this man lifted two of the wooden containers, which were practically the size of adult coffins, into his arms and began walking down a nearby corridor toward the loading bay where his team awaited. The other quality inspectors used dollies or grabbed a single crate to bring the remaining cargo.
     Booming music gradually faded in as Kona reached the loading bay. One dock was wide open, gaping into an enclosed hauling truck that practically rattled with each thump of the vehicle's subwoofer. Five other people were mingling either within the front of the truck or at the dock, laughing and bopping to the music.
    The first to notice Kona's approach was the black-haired woman clad in gothic leathers and neon-colored metals. She stamped out her cigarette on her forearm before tucking it behind her ear, then elbowed her blonde male teammate. "Get your asses in gear, team," she called out, beating on the inside of the truck with two firm thumps.
     Almost instantly, the music was turned off, followed by the contrast of empty air as their ears readjusted.
     "Ten crates of SMGs, three crates of handguns, and two rocket launchers," Kona growled as he passed the neon-goth.
     "Still bringing them ammo?"
     "Two crates. No silver."
     With a quick brush of her hand, the black-haired she-wolf tossed her long dreadlocks behind her shoulders. She began helping Kona load the crates into the truck. "You get that, Curds?"
     The blonde teammate of relatively short stature - for a werewolf - took note on his electronic tablet of each crate that was supposed to be going on the truck. "Eyes wide open, Madam Bitch," he replied, twitching his nose with mild irritation at the woman's endearing nickname for him.
     To this day, she refused to let him forget his mistake of taking ecstasy and breaking into a cheese factory where he proceeded to swim in and devour cheese curds. The rest of the night haunted him with chunky bile spewed across his bathroom floor as she watched, doubled over in laughter.
     "Mina," Kona stopped the younger woman with his large hand clasped on her shoulder, "get me an update from up front." He had C.B. radios installed on his team's truck strictly for listening purposes. The last few supply trips had been ambushed by that damned Mongrelz gang, and it was making him look bad. How the Mongrelz knew about only his team's runs was still a mystery, and Kona hadn't dismissed the possibility of a mole. The problem was that the mole wasn't in his team; he had confirmed that with extensive troubleshooting, earning the same results. Either the Mongrelz were damn good at predicting Nisus shipments to other bases, or there was a mole in the pack. The last thing he wanted was to be at fault - again.
     "Curtis, how's those surveillance cameras working?" Stepping over to the blonde man's side, Kona peeked at the tablet to inspect his work. This guy wasn't the toughest of werewolves by any means, but he made up for it with his advanced knowledge of modern human technology. His shaggy blonde hair and itchy stubble were evidence of his tireless work, and the additional hours of fulfilling his own amusement in chat and forum servers. Curtis wore the most basic of clothes, which often looked to be whatever he picked up off his bedroom floor. Unsurprisingly, Curtis was once a college student for computer sciences.
     Using his stylus to navigate between split screens of the tablet, Curtis, or “Curds", managed both the oncoming inventory and kept an eye on the truck's mounted cameras. "No hiccups here, Captain. Software's running smooth, and auto-focus is doing wonders," he replied, never lifting his darting brown eyes from his work.
    A low growl of satisfaction rumbled within Kona's throat. "If I have to mount a goddamn railgun on this truck..." he trailed off, grumbling curses toward the Mongrelz that he anticipated during the drive. Kona straightened out his heavily pocketed brown vest, popping the collar and getting the last of the crates onto the truck.
    Kona, Curtis, Mina, and a third member of their team, Vince, climbed into the truck to assume their perches among the cargo. The doors are closed behind them, the only source of light being a small sliding window that connected the truck's cabin and cargo area. From there, Kona can keep an eye on the driver and gunman known as Mike and Tobbs, respectively. Three knocks on the wall and the truck lurched forward to begin their drive across Neo Atlas. Kona reached into one of his vest pockets and pulled out a tiny plastic bag of cocaine. He never cared for the sting it gave when snorting, so he simply licked a finger, dipped it into the bag, and swept the ration under his tongue. The taste wasn't great, but it was better than the lingering burn in his sinuses.
    "You hear about the ghost spotted around the city?" Vince grunted, breaking the ambiant droning hum of the truck's engine and rolling tires. He was about the same size as Kona, but wider in the waist, and older by about twenty years. Vince didn't care about giving orders - just following them; and his experience in the military was useful for team structure and field tactics. The dark-skinned man kept his even darker hair trimmed short, a connecting 5 o'clock shadow ever present along his boxy jawline and chin. He had brown eyes, hardened by his experiences both in his human and werewolf lives. He wore simple t-shirts, cargo jeans, and running shoes, especially when on the job, to ensure that he didn't waste his expensive clothes during a transformation.
    Kona heard Vince's attempt at conversation, but he chose not to verbally respond; simply perking his ears at the mention of an alleged ghost.
   Mina, however, piped up with great interest, "Oh, the Moonlight Maiden? I heard she's not a ghost at all." The grin on her lips, painted neon-green, was a testament to her excitement.
    Nodding to Mina's acknowledgement, Vince continued the conversation, "Yeah, I heard she might not be, but damn does she glow like one."
    " ‘You seen her?"
    "Nah," Vince shook his head, narrowing his hardened eyes to the crate at his feet. "That's the only thing everyone can agree on: she's pale in nearly every way, even her dress.”
    Mina gestured to Kona's studious form, "His hair kinda glows in the moonlight. You think she's a werewolf? Maybe a Loner?"
    "Might be a newcomer looking for a pack," Kona contributed with a hypothesis. Usually, Nisus kept tabs on any known and rumored Loners within the city. If they seemed worth taking in, Nisus wanted to get the chance to recruit them before the Mongrelz could.
    "I heard she can heal others," Curtis added from his corner of the truck. The glow of his tablet gave him probably the only gleem of intimidation anyone could behold of his long, skinny face.
    All three heads snapped to attention toward Curtis, eyes wide with curiosity. "Where'd you get that intel?" Mina gawked, ever eager to learn more about a fun mystery. Of course, the blonde's response was the most obvious: internet.
    Curtis spent his fair share of time lurking chat forums and servers around the world, and he had been noticing an increasing amount of people announcing each of this Moonlight Maiden's newest locations. Some claimed to have been healed by her, and yet she disappeared as though she never existed, only to be spotted again some miles away. A werewolf with external healing abilities? Doubtful. A ghost wandering across the earth? Maybe. A female cryptid of rare ancestry? Plausible. The world baffled Curtis when it came to the media's quality in "proof" of rumors. Despite today's technology, images and videos were always just out of focus enough to leave the viewer with a sense of doubt.
    Rhythmic tapping of fingernails treaded a crate with apparent anticipation as Mina mused what she would do in her free-time, "Well, if she's been spotted in Neo Atlas, then I need to get out there and search for her." There was a giddiness in her voice that contrasted the gothic theme of her straight-yet-feminine frame.
    Mina had always been a fanatic of the supernatural and occult, which eventually led her to the Nisus gang and becoming a werewolf roughly five years ago. If she had it her way, Mina would have become a vampire, but those were known to be extinct. What other cryptid could she meet if she found this mysterious pale woman?
    The truck slowed to a stop, its cabin and the sliding window flooding with a red glow as they waited for a streetlight to change. Kona peeked out to examine his teammates up front, finding them laxed, but alert. The light flashed green, and they were on their way up the road again without any surprises. He checked his calf-skin wristwatch, finding that only ten minutes had gone by. They had a total of about 37 minutes to reach the sub-base, and the Mongrelz were making a habit of intercepting them halfway through the trip. Those bastards weren't fucking things up this time, or Kona would surely go on another rampage.
    To everyone's surprise - and mild concern - the drive remained uneventful. Pedestrians and vehicles were roaming the streets in sparse numbers. Streetlights illuminated the truck in steady pulses. Absolutely no attempts were made to attack or steal the vehicle's precious cargo. Kona wasn't sure if he should be nervous, relieved, or disappointed that one of his trips was going right; what a waste of his cocaine. 
    Upon reaching the hidden warehouse of Nisus' Sub-Base 4, the truck backed into a docking bay and idled for another minute or two. Curtis scanned the area with his tablet and cameras, ensuring that no one had followed them. The receiving Nisus members opened the doors to the truck's cargo, greeting Kona with firm nods. Curtis sent a text to Mike and Tobbs to give them the all-clear. Now, the team could relax.
    The crates were once again relocated, carried and rolled via dollies to a storage room deeper within the warehouse. Sub-Base 4 was small and homely, especially as the halls grew closer to the living quarters. There was the ever-present scent of rust in the air, but that was the case in all buildings of this type. If Nisus operated in modern buildings, they would be closely monitored by human taxes, city inspectors, and other inconveniences to their operations. At least abandoned buildings remained forgotten, seeing that the city considered them too expensive to refurbish or demolish. Rather, the city built around these warehouses with newer buildings, until the years went by and buried building after building in a labyrinth of streets, alleys, and rotting infrastructure.
    A firm hand clapped Kona's shoulder, accompanied by a voice from one of the receiving Nisus members, "I guess the rumors were true: those Mongrelz are distracted by something tonight. At least that gave you a break, huh?"
    Blue eyes wandering over to the owner of the invading hand, Kona gave the man a quizzical look with his white eyebrows. "The only break I needed was Mongrelz bones," he brushed his hand off, walking away with a low grunt. Kona approached Mike and Tobbs, who were returning from their trip with the crates, "Let's get back. Where're the others?" He needed to get out of here and into the streets so he could patrol, mainly to pound in the face of any Mongrelz he encountered.
    Mike, a disheveled stout man of tan skin and bowl-cut dark hair, let out a slow breath of potent smoke through his nostrils; it reeked of weed. He nodded over his shoulder toward the hall that the crates had been delivered, "On their way. Curtis is getting pictures as proof. Kion's orders."
   Tobbs, on the other hand, was a taller man by a few inches, his head barely peeking above Kona's shoulders. His dirty-blonde mullet reached down to his shoulder blades in an unkempt mass. The pair liked to dress in basic sweatpants and wife-beaters, complete with cheap sneakers one could find at any retail store. 
    A growl rumbled through Kona's clenched teeth. His team's reputation was dropping, thanks to the Mongrelz, and Kion's trust in him - the Alpha's trust in him - was fading. Kona was, least of all, offended. "Fine. Get the truck ready," he snarled.
    Mike and Tobbs didn't stick around, knowing that Kona's temper had a short fuse. They rounded a corner just in time to hear Kona's fist collide with a steel beam. The echo of singing metal rang out for several seconds before dissipating into the warehouse's otherwise muted atmosphere.
    Vince arrived from down the hall soon after his Captain's attempt to blow off a bit of steam. He noticed the fist-sized dent in the vertical steel. Vince hadn't seen a dent like that since someone backed a forklift into one. With a sigh, Vince approached Kona with a forcefully amused expression, choosing to ignore the white-haired man's new ire. "We got word that the Mongrelz were distracted with searching for that ghost woman we talked about earlier," he informed his Captain. "Can you believe that shit?"
    Before Kona could respond, a cheerful squeal pierced the air from down the hall. Mina came trotting down its length with Curtis in tow. "The Moonlight Maiden is somewhere nearby! The Mongrelz are looking for her! Kona, we have to find her before they do!" She ran up to the much taller male, bouncing on her toes as she begged for his permission. Her B-cup breasts bounced freely under her spaghetti-strapped top, a clear indication that Mina hadn't worn a bra today. She often relied on the spandex lining of her snug tops to provide what little support she required.
    "What makes this woman so important, exactly?" Kona growled, running a hand through his hair. Mina was cute, but she wasn't his type. Her childish behavior was a bit much for him; whether that was due to jealousy or genuine displeasure, he wasn't sure anymore.
    "You said it, yourself, that she could be a Loner," Curtis piped up as he pulled Mina back from their Captain by a lock of her dreads. "It'd benefit Nisus to at least confirm this and take appropriate action."
    "I will give you the sloppiest toppy if we find her, Kona! Please!" Mina blurted, completely serious about her offer. She had no mate, and didn't intend to take on such a commitment for some time. The girl was only nineteen years old, and she planned to explore all of the sexual exploits within modern werewolf culture.
    A brief silence fell over the partial team; not because of Mina's carnal proposition, but in wait for the Captain's decision. There was no doubt that Kona wouldn't mind a blowjob from Mina - she was good. He didn't like getting intimate with his teammates too often, especially not since the fiasco with his ex-mate. Even a fuck-buddy was too close for Kona's taste, but he was getting sick of buying whores off the street and listening to them question the abnormal shape of his dick.
    With a defeated grunt, Kona turned away from Mina and began his powerful stride back to the truck, "Deal." Even if they didn't find that damned ghost, he would get Mina to suck him later.
    A team meeting was held, including Mike and Tobbs. Most of the team rolled their eyes after hearing their change in orders, but found themselves agreeing to help amuse Mina both out of curiosity and obligation to their Captain. It's not like any of them had other occupations for the rest of the night, so why not busy themselves with ghost hunting?
    The truck was loaded and rolled out into the lamp-lit streets of northern Neo Atlas City. Curtis guided Mike to the last speculated location that the Mongrelz reported on. No matter how many times their gang reset their IPs or put up firewalls and passwords, Curtis was able to hack into their servers within hours. It was a wonder that he remained in Kona's team, rather than promoted to specialized IT or one of the higher-ranking teams.
                                                        
    /No luck on 57th street./
    Kona examined his phone as yet another update pinged, swiping his thumb as he navigated his team's group text. This search was pointless; he didn't believe there was anything special about this ghostly woman who possibly healed people. The cocaine he ingested at the start of their delivery run was reaching its peak, and Kona was itching for a scuffle with some Mongrelz - or anyone, at this point. Then, he'd get Mina to suck his cock, whether they found their target or not. He was getting hard, imagining the perfect way to end this night. Kona replied in the chat,
    /Curtis, got any new intel on the Mongrelz' search?/
    It took longer than he expected for a reply - or maybe it was his drug-fueled impatience - and Kona began to move his thumb to ping the chat again. He was pleasantly surprised to see the reply,
    /Kona, she's been spotted near you. East 14th street./
    "No shit," Kona mumbled in disbelief, a sneer stretching on his mildly thin lips to one side. He shoved his phone into his pants pocket and broke into a sprint toward the advised location. Finally, he could burn off this energy trembling through his veins. The night air cooled Kona's exposed skin as his heavy footsteps thudded like harbingers of his arrival. He could hear distant voices as he closed in near a building corner; three men and a woman in a tense discussion. Kona slowed, masking his footsteps with a softer approach as he pressed his back against the building wall. Sucking in the air, Kona did his best to control his breathing so as not to be heard, though his heart continued to race with excitement. He rolled his head against the building, peeking his vision just across the edge to assess the commotion beyond.
    Kona visually confirmed what he had heard: there were three men surrounding a single woman. There was no doubt that the men were part of the Mongrelz, considering the gang marking of having a chunk of their right ear tips bitten off. They were closing in on the woman, looming over her smaller frame with zealous grins. Kona noted the woman's appearance, which certainly matched the vague descriptions he had heard all night. Her long, straight hair flowed down to the backs of her knees like a waterfall of moonlight; a white bandana or cloth of some sort was wrapped around her head, sitting low over her brow and covering her ears. Her skin was almost just as pale, nearly porcelain in hue. The woman's petite body was adorned by a simple white sundress; modest and innocent in every way. She surprisingly wore no shoes, and Kona wondered how she was traveling the city's back streets without suffering wounds from pieces of broken glass and other harmful litter.
    "We've been hearing so much about you. Our boss would love to meet you," one of the Mongrelz attempted to reason with the pale woman, but the venom in his voice gave away his true intentions; orders that were best left unsaid in the moment.
    Oddly calm about her situation, the woman of moonlight parted her pastel-pink lips and firmly stated, "I can smell your musk of lycanthropy, and I have no intention of entrusting myself with the likes of you." At that, she pushed past the men without much effort, and began to walk away, only to be halted by a larger hand wrapping around her wrist. His grip squeezed tight, hinting that the Mongrelz had no intention of letting her deny their request.
    Kona watched, awestruck by the one-sided fight that unfolded before him. The woman was far stronger than she appeared; mind you, her physique was nothing short of athletic, but her power seemed unlikely by looks alone. She easily pulled her aggressor forward, spinning herself to face him and collide a shin into his ribs. His body was tossed several feet away, writhing and coughing as he tried to gather his wits over what had just happened. The other two Mongrelz lunged for their quarry, only to have their final thoughts smashed together like rotten fruits in the woman's forceful hands. Blood and gore spurted over the once pristine garments and flesh of strength personified.
    For several seconds, Kona hesitated to make an appearance, soon eying the Mongrelz member that remained alive. He smirked and jogged around the corner to grab the smaller man in a chokehold. "I'm pretty sure she's made her point now, huh?" Kona whispered into his meat shield's ear. He ensured his safety by keeping his rival gang's whimpering member between himself and the bloodstained Moonlight Maiden. He watched her, noticing the contrasting round, cherrywood eyes that were buried behind long, white eyelashes. Even in the light of a quarter moon, he could see a nebulous iridescence reflecting from this strange woman's hair.
    Wary eyes narrowed at Kona, ignoring the pathetic man that blubbered for mercy. Careful, silent steps encircled the Nisus Captain with a studious glare. Round nostrils on a stout and shallow nose flared as she tested the air for the newcomer's scent. "Another werewolf," she grumbled. "This city is rife with them, it seems." Turning her eyes to the original assailant, she asked, "You intend to rescue him?"
    "Actually, I was hoping to have a fight with them, but you got to them first," Kona smirked. He grabbed the Mongrelz' head and twisted it with swift force, answered with only a gurgle and thump of the body that collapsed at his feet. "Rival packs and all, right? You belong to a pack?" He sniffed the air, finding that the woman had an unfamiliar scent apart from any werewolf he had ever met. She smelled of the earth; simultaneously emanating the redolence of all four seasons.
    "Does your Alpha want to meet me as well?" Bitter words escaped her lips, providing evidence that this woman wasn't interested in small talk. As far as she was concerned, Kona was a new threat.
    At that moment, Kona's cell phone pinged in his pocket. He reached in with caution, and made sure to move slowly as he pulled it out. "My team is checking in. Do you mind if I respond?" He noticed a perplexed gaze in her dark eyes, focused on the device he held up as its screen blinked with notifications. The woman gave a nod, allowing Kona to contact his team. He turned the screen to his view and hovered his thumbs over the screen for a moment, hesitant to reply with the truth. Sure, Mina simply wanted to meet this ghostly woman who seemed to glow in the moonlight, but bringing in more people could be interpreted as a threat. Kona couldn't risk his team being slaughtered by a woman he wasn't even sure was a werewolf anymore. Mina would be upset, Kona would have to convince her to blow him anyway, and the Mongrelz would have another chance to capture the woman if he simply let her go. Kona wracked his mind, feeling his hands itch from the cocaine not getting some sort of outlet by now.
    /Nothing but bodies at the location you gave me, Curtis. We need to be careful with whoever Mina's idol is./
    At least now his team would get the idea that their ghost hunt wasn't to be taken as lightly as they first thought. There was a greater threat than running into squads of Mongrelz.
    /OMG SHE'S NOT MY IDOL!! I just wanted to know if she's real or not!/
    Mina responded rather quickly to Kona's teasing.
    /I'm moving on southward for a couple more blocks. Pick me up in 15, unless something changes./
    Kona tucked his phone back into his pocket, ignoring further pings. He was surprised to see the woman still standing in front of him, though she seemed to have closed the distance between them by a couple feet. Now, they were merely at arm's length as the pale woman studied Kona from a closer range. He straightened himself out, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious by this woman's gaze. "Like what you see?" Kona couldn't deny that his eyes were growing addicted to the narrow, hourglass frame of this woman's body. The scent of Mongrelz blood staining her front revived the half-chub he had from Mina's offer earlier.
    "That was a cellphone, right?" Her small hand pointed toward Kona's pocket, where it steadily pinged as the notifications flooded in.
    "Uh, yeah. You live under a rock or something?" It was strange to Kona that anyone would be unfamiliar with today's technology, much less the massively common cellphone.
    Unamused by Kona's sarcasm, the woman rolled her eyes and replied, "I've lived in my mother's forest until recently. Others who I've met along my travels have helped me learn about modern human society, and it seems that my mother's knowledge has been," she paused, mulling over her choice of description before finishing, "antiquated."
    A low growl emitted from Kona's throat as he gave his best seductive smirk, "Oh, I could catch you up on all the new things." He leaned forward, taking a step closer toward the stoic woman, to which he was immediately rejected by a firm hand pushing against his chest. No matter, they had only just met, after all. He backed off to her liking, but kept the smirk, "What's your name, anyway?"
    Removing her hand from Kona's bare chest, the lingering warmth on her fingertips, the Moonlight Maiden replied, "Liali."
    "That's a weird name, but mine's Kona. I'm a Captain in the Nisus werewolf pack."
    "Do you plan to try capturing me for your Alpha, Kona?" Liali repeated her earlier query, determined to discern Kona's intentions with her.
    How often had Liali been dodging kidnappers? Her concern couldn't be just from this one incident. Her tone seemed laced with historical resentment. Kona shook his head and gave a bit more space between them out of courtesy, "No, I don't. In fact, I'll let you be on your way if you do me one favor." When he received a silent quirk of Liali's covered brow, he followed up with, "Tell me why everyone wants to capture you."
    Liali's eyes diverted to the open paths of the backstreet they stood on, ensuring that no one else was around to witness their conversation. "I would prefer that you keep this a secret, but I'm suspecting that I've already been discovered." Reaching up to the silken bandana, Liali pushed it up and revealed her telling feature; there, centered and embedded between her thin white eyebrows, was an oval pearl roughly an inch in width. It shined in the moonlight just as her hair did, white and silvery like a moonbow.
    Kona stared, wide-eyed and dumbfounded, as everything he had witnessed up to this point added up in his mind. The rumors of her healing abilities, her silent steps, her ability to wander the world like a ghost, the monstrous strength, the paleness of her flesh and hair, and the telling pearl on her forehead; Liali was a rare and desired cryptid, indeed.
    Liali was a unicorn.