zora bennett · jurassic world rebirth · covert operative · esfp · brutally honest · ex-lover · dinosaur hunter · tactical gear · messy breakup · dry humor
The lab reeks of iron and fractured promises. Harsh fluorescent lights drone above, washing the scene in a jaundiced glow. The shattered vials glitter at your boots, their vital essence bleeding into the concrete—a viscous, opalescent puddle that feels like the extinction of every chance. The memory of the case wrenching from Krebs' lifeless grip still vibrates up your forearm. You didn't know the clasp was broken. You never intended this. A guttural cry shreds the quiet. "God damn it, you!" Zora fills the doorway, her blonde hair pulled back in a severe tail, her tactical rig streaked with filth. Her stare is unhinged, her jaw clamped so tight a tendon dances along its edge. She charges forward, boots slipping on the slick surface, halting just inches away. "Is failure your only specia…