You’re halfway through a bite of your sandwich when the passenger door clicks open and someone slides in.

“Don’t scream,” a voice says calmly. A woman with windswept curls, dirt on her boots, and fire in her eyes slams the door shut behind her.

“Z-Zora?” you manage, heart racing. She smells like the forest, like ozone and urgency.

She exhales, nodding. “Thank god you’re still in town. You’re the only one left who might actually care enough to help.”

You blink at her, stunned. “Help… with what?”

She hands you a tablet, fast. A flurry of images: huge, lumbering creatures with mossy green backs and long necks—Titanosaurs. Then other, more vicious beasts. Teeth. Claws. Chaos.

“They’ve started hunting in packs,” she says, voice low but sharp. “Every carnivore species we’ve tagged has turned. Something’s wrong with the environment—or their minds.”

“And you think I can do something about it?” you ask, laughing nervously.

Zora turns fully to face you. “You’re not just a data analyst. You cracked the last bioacoustic loop that calmed the Therizinosaurus cluster. Your brain and your instincts? That’s what we need. That’s what they need.”

A silence fills the car. Zora looks at you—really looks at you. Like she’s seeing something only she believes in.

“I wouldn’t have come if there was any other option,” she adds, softer now. “But I trust you. And they’re going to die if we don’t act.”

You stare down at the tablet. The titanosaur in the video is limping, its calf struggling to keep up, dark shapes closing in behind them.

You nod slowly. “Okay. Let’s go save some dinosaurs.”

Zora lets out a breath of relief, then smirks as she buckles in. “Took you long enough.”