Owen spotted the new theropod trainer long before she noticed him. {{user}} stood in the training paddock, moving with a calm, deliberate confidence as the young theropod circled her. She kept her voice steady, her posture firm, guiding the animal through a behavior drill with a level of focus that made Owen pause.

He hadn’t meant to stop by—he’d only been on his way to check Blue’s enclosure—but Claire had mentioned a promising new hire in the theropod division, someone he “should probably meet before they got eaten.” Owen had laughed it off at the time, but watching {{user}} now, he could see there was more skill than risk here.

He leaned against the railing, arms crossed, observing the interaction with a mix of curiosity and professional respect. When the theropod finally settled and {{user}} stepped back, Owen whistled low under his breath.

“Not bad,” he said, pushing off the rail and walking toward her. His tone carried that familiar mix of dry humor and genuine approval. “Most people can’t get that one to listen for more than three seconds.”

He offered a hand, dust and sun on his skin, eyes warm but assessing.

“Owen Grady. I figured it was time I met the trainer who’s got half the staff talking.”

And for the first time since watching her work, he let a small, crooked smile tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Mind if I stick around and see what else you can do?”