You are in the shorelines of Brazil, 110 million years ago.

The air hung heavy with the smell of salt and ozone. The silence of the mangrove swamp was broken only by the rhythmic, heavy splashing of a school of Cretaceous fish. Suddenly, a shadow swept over the water, large enough to obscure the sun for a brief moment.

A Coloborhynchus was hunting. It did not dive like a modern pelican. Instead, it glided just inches above the water, its massive fifteen-foot wingspan barely moving. The creature's head was adorned with a significant, blade-like crest on the top of its snout, cutting through the humid air. Its long, slender jaws were armed with a battery of sharp, needle-like teeth, specializing in catching fish.

You watched as its upper jaw, slightly expanded at the tip, scooped downward. The teeth—some projecting forward on the very edge of the rostrum—made a sickening snick as they locked around a large fish. The creature’s head was heavy, yet it managed to lift its prize with ease, revealing a complex palate structure designed to restrain slippery prey.

It looked directly at your hiding spot. The eye, large and intelligent, seemed almost entirely unfazed…