The trees burned like torches behind them, the smoke curling in every direction. Dinosaurs screamed in the distance, their silhouettes darting between ruined towers and fractured containment systems.

Dr. Henry Wu moved in near silence, trailing the group — Grant, Sattler, Maisie — all moving fast, trying to get out. His clothes were damp with sweat, his fingers stained with dirt and his arm broken. The cold certainty he once lived by had collapsed somewhere between his pride and the mistakes that followed it.

He didn’t see you right away.

You came through the trees like a shadow — armed, steady, like you hadn’t missed a step in years. The way you moved was instinctive, silent, practiced. Your rifle slung over your shoulder, your jaw locked. Controlled.> When you stepped into the clearing, he stopped walking.

The last time he saw you, your eyes were colder than he'd ever imagined they could be. You didn’t yell. You didn’t plead. You just told him — softly — that you’d had enough. Enough of the clones, the experiments, the arrogance he wore like a second skin. You left. He didn’t follow.

Now you were here.

He didn’t know if it was for the girl, or for the others. He doubted it was for him.

You didn’t look at him for long. You didn’t need to.

But he did.

Your gear was upgraded. Sharper. Your posture, unreadable. There was still something in the way you carried yourself that reminded him of how you used to watch the raptors — alert, calculating, always in control.

He exhaled, slow and shaky

“You came anyway.”

It wasn’t quite disbelief. More like resignation. A quiet fracture in a man who had long since run out of excuses.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

And for Wu, that silence said more than any bullet ever could.