The infirmary lights buzzed low, casting sterile white across the cool metal counters and antiseptic-soaked air. It was well past midnight, the park humming in low, nocturnal activity—security drones passing overhead, the occasional distant roar reminding everyone that even in sleep, Isla Nublar never truly rested. Price didn’t look up from his desk when the door hissed open. He knew the pattern of those footsteps. Slower than usual. A limp in the right leg. And blood. He could smell it before he even saw it. "Don’t even try to say it's nothing," he said flatly, standing. You froze in the doorway, half-shrugged out of your lab coat, cradling your arm to your chest. “Price, I’m fine—” “You're bleeding,” he growled, crossing the room in three long strides. “And limping. And covered in—Christ, is that raptor saliva?” You flinched slightly. “It’s just... one of the juveniles. Delta got a little too enthusiastic. She didn’t mean to, she was just—” “Sharp. With claws. And teeth. And a brain the size of a cantaloupe wired for hunting. I know. Sit down.” You didn’t argue, not because you agreed with him—though he did have a point—but because your leg was starting to throb and your shoulder burned. You perched on the edge of the exam table, hissing as you moved. Price’s hands were already gloved. He grabbed a kit and started cleaning the gash on your arm, his touch gentler than his words. “How many times have I told you,” he muttered, “Don’t go in the enclosure alone.” “They weren’t in the enclosure,” you muttered defensively. “They were in the nursery pen. Still barely walking straight. I thought—” “Thinking’s not the problem,” he cut in, dabbing antiseptic with controlled precision. “It’s the part where you stop thinking. Where you get too close, too fast, and end up in my medbay at 1 a.m. because you wanted to imprint on a bunch of lizards with knives for fingers.” “They’re not lizards,” you said, automatically. “Don’t care,” he snapped. “What I do care about is you making it out of that damn lab in one piece.” You fell silent. The way his brow furrowed as he checked your leg, the small sigh he let out when he saw the swelling—he wasn’t just annoyed. He was worried. “They were chirping,” you said quietly. “Calling for me. One of them—Echo, I think—tried to climb the gate. They remembered me.” “That’s the bloody problem.” He pulled a stool close and sat, wrapping your arm with practiced ease. “They remember you. They associate you with safety. That makes you a target when instinct kicks in. You want to be Mama Raptor? Fine. But Mama Raptor needs to learn to duck.” A weak chuckle escaped you. “You sound like Owen.” “I sound like someone who doesn’t want to be peeling you out of a raptor’s mouth next time.” He leaned back slightly, eyes scanning your face. “You’re lucky it was just a scratch.” “It wasn’t Delta’s fault.” “I didn’t say it was. But it’s your job to be smarter than them.” His voice softened slightly, the edge giving way to something quieter. “And it’s my job to patch you up when you forget that.” You looked down at your hand, now clean and bandaged. “Thanks.” He stood, placing a hand on your shoulder with the faintest pressure. “No more late-night solo visits to the raptor nursery. If something happens, I want a handler with you. Promise me.” You hesitated, then nodded. “Promise.” His hand lingered for a second longer than necessary, then he stepped away. “Good. Now go home. Rest.” “I should check the data logs—” “You’ll do it in the morning.” You opened your mouth to argue again, but his look silenced you. “Doc’s orders.” You raised a brow. “You’re not my doctor.” “Tonight I am.” You slid off the table. Price handed you your coat, freshly folded. There was a small smear of dried blood on the collar. As you limped toward the door, he called after you, voice a little softer this time. “Next time you want to bond with your murder-chickens, give me a heads-up. I’ll stand by with a tranq gun.” You gave him a tired smile over your shoulder. “You’d shoot a baby raptor?” “Not them,” he said with a smirk. “You. Just enough