Evelyn Hart's lungs burned as her feet pounded against the pavement, the rhythmic thud of her sneakers blending with the roar of the cheering crowd. The city marathon was in full swing, the early morning sun casting golden rays over the throng of runners and spectators. Her blonde ponytail bounced with each stride, and she could feel the sweat trickling down her temples, but she didn't dare slow down.

The finish line was just ahead.

She fixated on the woman in front of her—a tall, wiry runner who had held the lead for the past mile. Evelyn narrowed the gap, her legs pushing harder, every fiber of her athletic frame screaming in protest.

Just a little more.

The crowd's energy fed her determination, their shouts and claps swelling as the finish line drew closer. But the woman ahead surged forward in the final stretch, crossing the line first with Evelyn just steps behind.

She stumbled to a stop, gasping for air as the race official handed her a silver medal and a bottle of water. Second place wasn't bad—great, even—but Evelyn couldn't shake the familiar pang of disappointment. Her competitive spirit always demanded more.

Before she could dwell on it, her phone buzzed in the pocket of her running shorts. She grabbed it, glancing at the screen. Her editor's name flashed across it. Frowning, she swiped to answer.

"Evelyn Hart," she said, her voice still breathless from the run.

"Evelyn! Great news," her editor, Carl, said, his gravelly voice practically shouting through the line. "Got a lead you're going to love. Big story. Local legend kind of thing, but with a real possibility of substance. You free to come in after your little run?"

Evelyn smirked. Carl always teased her about her hobbies, but she could hear the excitement in his tone. "Second place, thank you very much," she said, grabbing a towel someone handed her. "And yeah, I'll swing by. What's it about?"

"Not over the phone," Carl said. "Just get here. You're going to want this one."

The line clicked dead before she could reply. Typical Carl.

"Was that work?" a familiar voice called. Evelyn turned to see her best friend and colleague, Darcy Nguyen, jogging toward her from the crowd. Darcy, all sharp cheekbones and quick wit, was holding a coffee cup in one hand and her phone in the other.

"Yeah," Evelyn said, slinging the towel around her neck. "Carl says he's got something big. Wants us to come in."

Darcy raised an eyebrow. "Big, huh? Last time he said that, we ended up doing a two-parter on potholes in the city."

"Don't remind me," Evelyn said with a groan. "But he sounded serious this time."

"Well, you're sweaty, starving, and glowing with post-race glory," Darcy said. "Let's fuel up before we face whatever 'big story' Carl's cooked up."

Evelyn laughed. "Fine, but I'm picking the place."

The coffee shop was bustling when they arrived, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the sweet aroma of pastries. Evelyn ordered her usual—a strong black coffee and a slice of banana bread—while Darcy went for an iced latte and a croissant. They found a small table by the window, the sun streaming in as they settled down.

"So," Darcy said, tearing into her croissant, "what do you think this 'big story' is? Another puff piece? Maybe we're profiling the city's oldest pigeon."

Evelyn shook her head, sipping her coffee. "He sounded genuinely excited. That's rare for Carl."

"Maybe it's aliens," Darcy said, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Or Bigfoot. Or—wait for it—dinosaurs."

Evelyn snorted. "Dinosaurs, sure. Because they've been hiding in Central Park this whole time."

Darcy grinned. "Stranger things have happened."

Evelyn rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. "If it's another pothole story, I'm blaming you for jinxing it."

"Deal," Darcy said, raising her latte like a toast. "To big stories and dinosaurs."

"To big stories," Evelyn echoed, clinking her coffee cup against Darcy's.

After finishing their snacks, they grabbed a cab to the office. The newsroom was its usual chaotic self—phones ringing, reporters shouting over one another, and the hum of printers filling the air. Carl spotted them the moment they walked in, waving them over with his signature cigar clamped between his teeth.

"Ladies, glad you could make it," he said, leaning back in his chair. "We've got ourselves a juicy one."

Evelyn raised an eyebrow. "Let's hear it."

Carl leaned forward, lowering his voice as if the walls had ears. "There's a remote island off the coast of Costa Rica. Locals have been talking about sightings—big animals, prehistoric-looking, like something out of Jurassic Park. The kind of story that sounds like nonsense until you dig a little deeper."

Darcy crossed her arms. "And what makes you think it's not nonsense?"

"Because," Carl said, sliding a file across the desk, "we've got photos. Grainy, sure, but look at the scale of this thing. If it's a hoax, it's a damn good one."

Evelyn opened the file, her breath catching at the images. Massive footprints in the mud. A blurred shape in the jungle that could've been a tail. Her heart raced with the kind of thrill she hadn't felt in years.

"This isn't just some cryptid nonsense," Carl continued. "We've got reports of poachers and illegal activity in the area. This could be bigger than anything you've done before."

Darcy leaned over Evelyn's shoulder, squinting at the photos. "Okay, I'll admit, this is weird. But how do we even know where to start?"

"I've already arranged the logistics," Carl said. "There's a guide who'll meet you there. He's worked in the area for years. You'll have everything you need to chase this down."

Evelyn looked up from the file, her mind already racing with possibilities. "When do we leave?"

Carl grinned. "Pack your bags. You're going to that island."

Darcy groaned. "You mean she's going to that island, right? I just got back from covering city council meetings. I deserve a break."

"Nope," Carl said, his grin widening. "You're going too. Can't have Evelyn running off alone into dinosaur country, can we?"

Evelyn smirked. "Guess you're stuck with me, Darcy."

Darcy sighed dramatically, but a spark of excitement flickered in her eyes. "Fine. But if I get eaten by some prehistoric bird, you're writing my eulogy."

"I'll make it Pulitzer-worthy," Evelyn said with a laugh. "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

Later that evening, Evelyn stood in her apartment, a half-packed duffel bag on her bed. Her green eyes scanned the checklist she'd made: camera, notebooks, a sturdy pair of boots, and a book on paleontology her father had once gifted her. She ran her fingers over the worn cover, a pang of bittersweet emotion tightening her chest. This story felt important—not just for her career, but for the legacy she wanted to uphold.

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. A text from Darcy: Hope you're ready for an adventure. Meet at the airport, 6 a.m. sharp. Don't forget the bug spray.

Evelyn smiled, texting back: Wouldn't miss it. See you there.

As she zipped up her bag, she couldn't shake the feeling that this trip would change everything. For better or worse, she was ready to find out.

WC: 1168