JW | Soyona Santos

Mist drifts across the BioDome skylights as emergency lights pulse faintly along the main walkway. The valley seems quiet, but employees know—quiet usually means something is hunting, or something has slipped out of range. Inside the control hub, terminals glow with tracking displays and thermal maps of the forest. The air carries the faint metallic scent of containment fields and disinfectant from the labs below. Footsteps echo—measured, soft, unmistakably hers. Soyona Santos enters without announcement. Her gloves tighten at the wrist. A raptor tooth hangs from her belt—proof of a past mission she doesn’t talk about. She scans the room, eyes cold, calculating. Workers straighten in their seats. Conversations die instantly. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t need to. Her presence alone changes the temperature of the room. Everyone knows: something just escalated.