You are in the forested floodplains of North America, 215 million years ago.

The hot Triassic air felt thick, carrying the scent of dry fern and impending rain. You froze behind a cluster of conifers as the silence was broken—not by a roar, but by a hiss.

Through the brush, a creature flashed by, lithe and terrifyingly fast, no bigger than a large dog. It was a Coelophysis, its skin a mottled, earthy brown. Its narrow, sleek head turned sharply, revealing huge, amber eyes that seemed to lock onto something in the ferns with intense, terrifying precision. It didn't look like a slow monster; it moved like a living bird of prey, high on its toes, its long tail rigid for balance.

Before you could breathe, another one appeared, then two more. They were hunting in a pack, agile and silent, moving through the undergrowth with a fluid grace that spelled certain death for whatever they were chasing.