Chapter Text
The Montana sun was unrelenting, beating down on the dig site with a dry, burning heat that clung to the skin. Dust swirled with every step, kicked up by undergraduates brushing carefully at ancient fossil beds. Alan Grant stood near a shaded tent, arms crossed, squinting down at the exposed raptor skull nestled in the dirt like a forgotten secret.
“This one’s different,” he muttered, half to himself.
From beside him, Billy Brennan leaned forward, shading his eyes. “You mean the jaw structure?”
Alan nodded. “And the cranial cavity. More developed. Bigger. They weren’t just pack hunters, Billy. They were communicating. Planning. We underestimated them… again.”
Billy grinned, brushing a smear of dirt off his brow. “So, when do we start apologizing to them?”
Alan smirked but didn’t reply. His eyes scanned the site. Something—no, someone—had caught his attention, standing at the far end of the camp. Tall, with messy blond hair, a backpack slung over one shoulder and cautious eyes full of wonder: Thomas Malcolm.
Alan’s heart gave a surprising lurch. He’d known Tommy since the boy was ten—an awkward dinner invite from Ian Malcolm years ago had introduced him to the quiet, pale kid who preferred flipping through dinosaur books over making conversation. Even then, Alan had liked him.
“Tommy?” he called, waving him over.
The young man smiled—small and reserved, but sincere—and jogged up the slope.
“Hey, Dr. Grant,” Tommy said, breathless, setting his pack down. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re not interrupting,” Alan said, giving him a rare smile. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, actually. Thought you were supposed to be in London, working on… what was it? Paleogenetics?”
“Changed programs,” Tommy admitted. “More theory than bones, and I kind of missed the real thing.”
Billy walked over then, his voice playful but warm. “So what, you just drop into a fossil site in the middle of nowhere?”
Tommy’s smile widened, softer now. “Thought it’d be a good surprise.”
Alan watched the quick glance they exchanged. Nothing overt. But he noticed the way Tommy’s shoulders relaxed near Billy, and the way Billy’s grin lingered a second too long. Alan wasn’t a fool. He knew something was there. He had known for a while. But he’d never bring it up—never make them uncomfortable. They reminded him of kids he’d never had. And though he’d never say it, he was proud of both of them.
“You’re welcome to stay,” Alan said. “Always room for someone who knows what they’re doing. Though you’ll be shoveling more than studying.”
“I don’t mind.”
As Tommy went to drop his bag near the tents, Billy followed, leaning close. “You really didn’t tell you’re Dad you were coming here did you…?”
“No,” Tommy said. “Besides, what he doesn’t know won’t kill him.”
Billy laughed, but a little tension crept into his eyes. “Let’s hope he doesn’t find out.”
Tommy softened, brushing their fingers together when no one was watching. “He won’t.”
Later that afternoon, a cloud of dust rolled up from the nearby airstrip. A sleek private plane taxied up, engine humming like a bad idea. Two people stepped out—an overconfident man in a pressed shirt and a woman who looked like she hadn’t been on a real hike in years.
“Dr. Grant!” the man called. “Paul Kirby. Kirby Enterprises. This is my wife, Amanda.”
Alan approached warily. “We spoke on the phone.”
“We did!” Paul beamed. “I have a business proposal, and we’d really appreciate your expertise.”
Billy trailed close behind, camera in hand. Tommy stood back, watching silently, unsure where this was going.
As Paul launched into his pitch—a flyover of Isla Sorna, a generous donation to Alan’s dig—Tommy’s ears perked up. Isla Sorna? The name alone gave him goosebumps. He glanced at Billy, who was already staring back, eyes narrowing.
Billy leaned toward Alan. “This feels off.”
Alan agreed but kept his voice neutral. “Let’s hear them out.”
A few days later, Tommy sat in the back of the private jet, window open to the clouds, his heart hammering. They were flying over the Pacific, and somewhere beneath them was Isla Sorna.
He hadn’t told his dad. Hadn’t told anyone, really. Only Billy and Alan knew he was coming along.
Alan had been hesitant to let Tommy join—he’d tried to suggest Tommy stay behind, just to “keep an eye on the dig”—but Tommy had insisted. Alan didn’t push too hard. Truth be told, he didn’t want to leave either of his 𝘣 ⃪𝘰 ⃪𝘺 ⃪𝘴 ⃪ students behind.
Billy leaned over the aisle now and whispered, “Still time to fake a stomach flu.”
“I’m okay,” Tommy whispered back, voice tight.
He wasn’t. He was terrified. But he was also thrilled.
“Besides,” he added, “you’re here.”
Billy smiled. “Yeah. And when this goes sideways, I’ll still be here.”
Tommy reached over, squeezing his hand out of view.
Amanda Kirby’s voice cut through the engine noise. “Look! There it is!”
Alan leaned over to the window, jaw tight. The jungle stretched endlessly below. Sorna. Site B. The second island. The place they never should have returned to.
“This was never supposed to be a landing trip,” Alan muttered.
Seconds later, the co-pilot leaned back. “We’ll be landing on the strip just inside the island.”
“What?” Alan snapped. “No. You said flyover only.”
Tommy’s blood ran cold. The pilot wasn’t slowing. The plane began descending.
“Billy,” Alan barked. “Something’s wrong.”
Billy was already unstrapping.
Tommy’s hand found the seat. He gripped tight, heart pounding as the island got closer.
This wasn’t a dig. This wasn’t a simulation.
This was real.
And whatever they were flying into, it was far too late to turn back now.
He should’ve listened to his Dad….