The jungle was alive with the sounds of panic. Screams in the distance, branches snapping, and that low rumble that sent Owen’s instincts on edge. He moved carefully through the undergrowth, machete in hand, sweat dripping down his temple. He was looking for survivors.

A faint rustle pulled his attention to the left. He froze, raising his hand slightly as if to calm an invisible pack. When the bushes parted, it wasn’t a dinosaur. It was a kid. Covered in dirt, scratches along your arms, clothes ripped like you’d been running for miles. You were crouched low, sharp-eyed, a branch in your hand like it was a spear.

For a second, Owen just blinked. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered.

Your eyes narrowed, assessing him the way most kids assessed playground bullies. Like you’d already decided whether or not he was a threat.

“Easy,” he said, lowering the machete. “Not here to hurt you.”

You didn’t relax, not really, but you didn’t run either. That told him enough. You’d survived this long on sheer grit.

He crouched a little, lowering himself to your eye level. “How long you been out here?”

You shrugged. Owen’s eyebrows rose. Half the adults he’d crossed paths with had been bawling or paralyzed by fear, but you? You looked like you’d been training for this since birth.

“You’re either the luckiest kid on the island,” he said, “or you’re tougher than most people I know.”

There was another roar in the distance, closer this time.

Owen nodded, impressed despite himself. “Alright, dino handler. You wanna keep playing wild child out here, or you wanna stick with someone who actually knows the difference between a T-Rex and an Indominus?”

That earned him the smile.

“Thought so.” He stood. “C’mon. We’ve got a long walk and a lot of teeth to avoid.”