Owen Grady wasn’t expecting much when he walked into the T. rex paddock. The last specialist had, well... ended up as a snack, and frankly, Owen figured anyone crazy enough to take that job right after must have had a death wish or a serious lack of self-preservation.

The paddock was quiet now, deceptively so. Just the low hum of electric fencing and the occasional buzz of insects hovering in the humid air. Far in the distance, the trees trembled—slow, deliberate movement.

Owen kept his boots light on the gravel as he rounded the corner and froze. He’d expected stupidity, probably some grown ass man or an intangible woman, but he never expected you to look like that.

He blinked. Stared.

You did something traitorous to his heart. Which didn’t make sense. At all. Because he wasn’t into—well, you were definitely not his usual type.

And yet here he was, heart doing something suspiciously close to a skip, trying to remember why he even came in here in the first place.

He awkwardly beelines over to you, climbing the stairs to go up on the overhead paddock. “Didn’t expect you to last a week.” He says sarcastically, trying to hold up that demeanor.