Dinosaur Island -1994- ⟶

It stood at the edge of the jungle, thirty feet of muscle and scale, its head tilted as if considering her. The tyrannosaur was not the shambling, tail-dragging monster of old museum paintings. It was fast. Low-slung. Its eyes were forward-facing, intelligent, and the color of molten gold.

Lena heard the footsteps a second later. Dinosaur Island -1994-

He woke up fast. Reached for the gun.

Kellerman’s eyes filled with tears. “The old hatchery. East side of the island. He’s—” She stopped. Swallowed. “He’s still there. Mercer put him on display. A warning.” It stood at the edge of the jungle,

She turned. Jack Harriman stood in the wheelhouse doorway, one hand braced against the frame, the other nursing a chipped mug of coffee. He was forty-seven, two decades older than her, with a face like cracked leather and the easy slouch of a man who had spent half his life on boats that shouldn’t have stayed afloat. Former Royal Navy, now freelance “maritime logistics,” which Lena had learned meant he moved things—and people—that customs wasn’t supposed to see. Low-slung