Time stopped inside the cabinet.
I didn't move. I didn't blink. I didn't breathe unless I absolutely had to, and even then, I did it slow—nose only, barely enough to stir the rancid air around me.
Outside, the raptors prowled.
I could hear them. Pads on tile. Claws tapping, skimming. Breathing—raspy, measured, cruelly thoughtful. They weren't predators like lions or wolves. They didn't prowl on instinct. They calculated. Waited. Adjusted their approach.
And now they were listening for me.
Every sound in the lab became a threat. The creak of a shifting beam. The tick of something settling. Even my own pulse throbbed too loud. It sounded like a signal.
And then—
A call.
Bark. Sharp. Wet. Throaty.
It came from outside the lab. Maybe twenty meters off. Somewhere behind the treeline, deeper in the forest.
Another raptor.
My heart seized. I couldn't even begin to guess what it meant. Was it a rival? A scout? A stray member of this same pack?
Whatever it was—it got the others' attention.
Outside the cabinet, the footsteps shifted. Tension changed shape. I felt it ripple in the stillness. The closest raptor turned—its claws scraped hard against the floor as it pivoted. Another one hissed, tail swiping through dry leaves.
Then came the movement.
Fast. Urgent.
One set of claws ran—tak tak tak tak tak—past the cabinet, toward the door.
Then another.
Then a third.
Three.
I counted them with everything in me. Tracked each set of running feet. Traced their retreat like my life depended on it—because it did.
Three sets of steps ran out into the jungle, toward the new sound.
Not four.
Not five.
Three.
I didn't move.
Not even to sigh.
Not even to cry with relief.
Because if there were three… then the fourth might still be here.
Still watching.
Still waiting.
That's what they did, right?
One distracts. Others surround. One stays behind. One always stays behind.
I kept my forehead pressed to the inner wall of the cabinet, hands tight against the sides to keep from shaking. My fingers were cramping, but I didn't move them. I couldn't. Not yet.
I listened.
Hard.
The lab was silent again. No more rustling. No more pads on tile. No huffs or clicks or growls.
But I didn't believe it.
Stillness wasn't safety.
Stillness was hunting posture.
So I waited.
Minute by minute.
I counted in my head. Slowly. Carefully.
One…
I stared at the floor. Or rather, the uneven, broken shadows of what was left of the floor. Dust pooled in the corners. Cracks split in jagged fans beneath the cabinet. A rusty screw sat by my right foot, still vibrating slightly from where I'd rushed in. I focused on it. On how it stopped moving. On how the world waited.
Two…
The back of my neck itched. I didn't scratch it. I imagined what I'd do if the door ripped open. Which way I'd go. How fast I could run. Where the exits were.
The image didn't help.
The raptors would be faster.
Three…
I swallowed dry.
Four…
I thought of home. Of dumb things. The smell of gasoline at the gas station near my street. The stupid laugh Wyatt made when he lied about something. The taste of canned root beer. The plastic warmth of my Xbox controller after hours of gaming.
All of it felt like fiction now.
Five…
I blinked slow. Didn't dare move more than that. A single drop of sweat rolled down from my hairline, curved around my temple, and fell to my collarbone.
The sound it made—so soft—still made my stomach clench.
Six…
Where was the fourth?
Was it here?
Was it just waiting outside the door?
Or had I miscounted?
Or was it a trick?
Seven…
I shifted just enough to flex my fingers. The tips had gone numb. I felt the grooves of the cabinet wall beneath my nails. Cold. Textured. Real.
Too real.
Eight…
Still no sound.
Even the jungle outside felt quiet. No birds. No insects.
Which meant something was still nearby.
Something alive. Something that made the rest of the world hold its breath.
Nine…
I imagined the shape of the raptor's eyes. How they'd look through the crack. How close I'd be to those teeth if it looked right at me.
The idea made my legs twitch.
I bit down on my lower lip until I tasted blood.
Ten…
Still nothing.
Stillness.
Silence.
The world hung in balance.
But I didn't move.
Not yet.
Because ten minutes isn't that long when your life depends on it.
And survival is patience.
And I had no margin for error left.