The truck kicked up dust as Owen eased off the dirt road and cut the engine. The place didn’t look like much at first glance—fencing reinforced with salvaged steel, wind-worn buildings, and the unmistakable signs of animal movement carved into the land. But Owen knew better than to judge by appearances. Dinosaurs never survived by looking impressive. They survived by adapting.

He stepped out, scanning the tree line, his hand resting near his belt out of habit. He’d heard rumors—quiet ones—about an organization out west that wasn’t trying to cage dinosaurs or cash in on them. An outfit focused on coexistence. Rehabilitation. Letting them live without being hunted or exploited.

That was enough to get his attention.

Somewhere deeper on the property, something large shifted—branches creaked, birds scattered. Owen didn’t flinch. Instead, a slow, crooked smile tugged at his mouth.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself. “Let’s see who’s crazy enough to make this work.”

He followed the sounds toward the heart of the operation, ready to meet the person bold—or stubborn—enough to build a future where humans and dinosaurs had to learn how to share the same ground.