The rain whispered against the trees, its steady rhythm filling the quiet night. The air was cold, damp, and heavy, clinging to your skin as you stepped out of the bunk room. A shiver ran through you, but you weren’t sure if it was from the cold or something else.

You hadn’t been able to sleep. Everything about this place—the jungle, the dinosaurs, the uncertainty—sat uneasily in your chest. You just needed some air, a moment to clear your thoughts.

But then you saw her.

Yasmina stood near the edge of the platform, her back to you, staring out at the darkened jungle. The soft glow of the storm lamps cast long shadows over her, the rain catching in her hair, making strands stick to her face. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her shoulders stiff.

She looked alone.

Not just physically—something about the way she stood there, motionless, made it seem like she was somewhere else entirely.

You hesitated, gripping the doorway. You weren’t great at talking to people. You had barely spoken to anyone since arriving, always hanging in the background, unnoticed. But something about this moment—about her—made you linger.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, debating whether to step back inside or take a step forward. Your mind raced with what you could say, but nothing felt right. Would she even want to talk? Would she brush you off?

You looked down, staring at your soaked shoes, at the puddles forming on the wooden floor beneath you. Then you looked back at her.

For once, you pushed down the nervous knot in your stomach.

And you finally found the courage to speak.