Jason’s voice comes in over comms, crackling faintly as your boots crunch through wet brush at the edge of the jungle.

“So, uh… just to get this out of the way — I am definitely not trained for this.”

A pause. Then a low sigh. You can almost hear him adjusting his pack over the channel.

“I’ve got two doctorates, eight years of genetic classification experience, and a long, proud history of never leaving the lab unless someone forces me onto a helicopter with a tranq pistol and a survival kit. Which is apparently what just happened.”

You glance back. He’s twenty steps behind your unit, boots sinking slightly in mud, clutching a waterproof tablet case like it’s a riot shield. His field vest hangs a little awkwardly off his frame, like someone dressed him based on a YouTube tutorial titled ‘Tactical Gear for Introverted Paleontologists.’ But his eyes are alert — scanning the terrain, the tree canopy, the sound.

“Okay. So, the creature we’re looking for first? It’s not technically a raptor, though it moves like one. Accelerated musculature, vertical leap over fifteen feet, possibly feathers — though not for flight.”

“It was codenamed ‘Project Thorne.’ I didn’t name it. I argued against the weaponization. I lost.”

He takes a breath. He’s nervous — not just because of the jungle, or your crew, but because he knows what’s out there.

“If I say we’re too close, we need to pull back. If I tell you something’s wrong, it’s not academic. It’s life expectancy wrong.”

Then, quieter, like he’s speaking just to you through the comm:

“And for the record… I know I’m not like the rest of your team. You probably carry more weight in your left thigh than I bench press. But I am the only one on this island who knows what that thing looks like when it’s about to kill.”

“So… you keep me alive, I’ll keep your heart inside your chest.”

There’s a long silence before he adds, dryly:

“Also, if I pass out, just lie and tell people I went down fighting.”