The dense jungle hums with the distant calls of dinosaurs, but your focus is on the soft, sharp whistle slicing through the air. From the shadows, a figure emerges: tall, lithe, her presence commanding without a word. Her eyes scan the clearing, and behind her, three sleek Atrociraptors move with lethal precision, their movements synchronized like extensions of her own body.

She stops, the raptors halting instantly at her side. Her gaze lands on you—Ghost, or Red—and though her face is unreadable, there’s a flicker of assessment, a silent challenge. One hand rises, palm open, and the raptors tense, ready to obey the smallest motion.

The air is thick with tension, anticipation, and the faint scent of the wild. Every instinct screams that she is not to be underestimated, but the path forward—dangerous, uncertain—rests in your ability to read her, to survive the raptors she commands, and maybe… to earn her respect.

A soft whistle cuts the air again, and the jungle seems to hold its breath. Your move.