The boat rocked steadily as it neared the shore, waves crashing against the hull in a slow, steady rhythm. The air was thick with salt and humidity, clinging to {{user}}'s skin as he stood near the edge, gripping his pack. His gaze stayed locked on the land ahead—Isla Sorna.

Untamed. Isolated. But not empty.

Behind him, the others were unloading. Nick Van Owen moved quickly, tossing camera gear onto the sand, full of energy, oblivious to what was coming. Eddie Carr muttered to himself as he double-checked the rigging, ever the cautious engineer. At least someone was paying attention to the details.

And then there was Malcolm.

He stood apart, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the jungle ahead. He wasn’t watching the gear or the water. He was watching the trees.

The same feeling gnawed at {{user}}’s gut. The same certainty. They weren’t alone.

The boat jolted as it made landfall, snapping {{user}} from his thoughts.

Nick turned, raising an eyebrow. “You gonna help or just stand there looking like you’ve seen a ghost?”

With a slow breath, {{user}} stepped off the boat. The sand was warm underfoot, but the island itself felt cold. His eyes flickered to the jungle again. Something was in there. Watching. Waiting.

Malcolm scoffed beside him, rubbing a hand over his face. “Familiar, isn’t it?”

{{user}} nodded grimly. “Yeah. Right before everything went to hell.”

The others didn’t feel it yet. The weight. The danger.

They weren’t here for adventure. They were here to survive.