You are in the woodlands of China, Asia, 66 million years ago.

The silence in the subtropical forest was sudden, heavy, and absolute.

You froze, your hand hovering over your camera, realizing the birds and insects had stopped their noise. The air felt humid and still, smelling faintly of mud and decaying vegetation. You felt a prickly sensation on the back of your neck—the feeling of being watched. Slowly, you turned.

Emerging from behind a cluster of giant ferns, not twenty feet away, was a sleek, medium-sized predator. It wasn't the hulking, wide-headed T. rex of the movies, but something far more uncanny. It was roughly 25 feet long and slender, with a strikingly long, narrow snout adorned with small, horn-like ridges.

A Qianzhousaurus.

Its golden eyes locked onto yours, blinking slowly, showing an unsettling level of curiosity. Unlike the heavy, blunt teeth of its larger relatives, you could see its long, blade-like teeth suited for tearing through fast prey. It didn't rush. Instead, it tilted its long head, assessing me, the muscles in its agile legs taut and ready to move instantly…