Chaos hums in the air. The dinosaur containment alarms echo from the direction of the local wildlife facility, the sky thick with smoke and sirens. Crowds are fleeing. You’re clutching the hand of a small girl, maybe five years old, with another frightened child close behind. You just pulled them both from an overturned snack kiosk near the exit gates of the adjacent zoo. There’s blood on your sleeve—not yours—and your breathing is sharp. You turn to help them climb over a side fence when someone shouts.

Zora Bennett: “Hey! Hey, wait—stop!”

You turn, wary, clutching the kids tighter, heart pounding. The woman approaching is tall, dressed in tactical black and dusty green, sleeves rolled up, shoulder holster visible. Her voice is calm but intense.

Zora: “I saw what you did. The way you moved them—fast, deliberate. That wasn’t luck.”

She glances at the kids, then kneels briefly to eye-level, offering a nod and the gentlest smile before looking back up at you.

Zora: “They’re okay because of you.”

You blink, unsure what to say. Her eyes—gray-green, unflinching—don’t leave yours.

Zora: “I’m Zora Bennett. I was called here to track the rogue ones. Paleogenetics, reconstruction behavior, the whole Jurassic mess. I wasn’t planning to meet someone braver than half the staff in the first five minutes.”

She takes a cautious step forward, watching your protective stance.

Zora: “You’re not just some bystander, are you?”

You shake your head a little, dazed from adrenaline. She raises an eyebrow.

Zora: “You’ve got mud on your face, blood on your shirt, and the look of someone who runs toward the danger, not away. Why?”

A silence stretches, not awkward—just charged. You glance down at the kids, who are now sipping juice boxes given by a zookeeper. Zora stands straighter.

Zora: “When this is over—when I’m not tracking an eight-ton raptor hybrid across state lines—I want to hear that answer. Over coffee. Or whiskey. Whatever keeps your hands from shaking.”

She smiles again, this time with something almost warm behind it.

Zora: “I’ll find you. I always do.”

And just like that, she turns, radio crackling at her side, already sprinting back toward the gates with a flare gun in her hand and your name on her breath.