Alan ran a weary hand over his face, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the entire situation pressed down on him. "You took them," he said flatly, his voice laced with both disbelief and frustration. His sharp gaze shifted to Billy, whose guilty expression confirmed the unspoken accusation.

Billy nodded hesitantly. "Look, I know we barely made it out alive the last time, but I had to. We could use them, Alan—study them, learn from them. Think of what we could build, what we could understand!"

Alan shook his head in exasperation, his voice low and tense. "You've doomed us again, Billy," he muttered, the words carrying a grim finality.

Before the argument could escalate, a sound from the jungle cut through the tension. Rustling leaves gave way to a shadow moving with deliberate precision. Alan's heart sank as the sleek, familiar figure of Ivory emerged from the foliage, her golden eyes gleaming with a mixture of disappointment and quiet fury.

"Oh no," Alan whispered, the words barely escaping his lips. He turned quickly, grabbing Billy and pulling him closer. "Run," he hissed, urgency crackling in his voice. His free hand darted out to yank the Kirbys—both Paul and Amanda—closer, their son Eric in tow. Together, they scrambled to move, their collective panic palpable.

Ivory clicked her tongue—a sharp, deliberate sound that echoed through the clearing like a warning bell. Behind her, two other raptors stepped into view, their scales bristling and their low growls vibrating with barely restrained aggression.

"I thought I told you," Ivory said, her voice low and filled with a biting disappointment, "that I'd be watching." Her tone carried more than anger; there was a deep sense of betrayal that cut through the air like a blade.

Alan froze, his breath hitching as he held up his hands in a placating gesture. Slowly, he began backing away, his movements deliberate and non-threatening. "He didn't mean it," Alan began, his voice tight. "Billy didn't think—"

"That's clear," Ivory interjected, her sharp tone silencing him. Her gaze flicked to Billy, and her tail lashed in irritation. "And now you've put everyone in danger. Again."

Alan shook his head, desperation creeping into his voice. "Look, I'm sorry. We're sorry. This was a mistake—an awful, stupid mistake." He glanced over his shoulder, gauging their limited options for escape before turning back to Ivory. "If it'll make things right, we'll return the eggs. I'll make sure he leaves them near the beach. No one else gets hurt. You have my word."

Behind Ivory, one of the raptors let out a sharp bark, its claws scraping impatiently against the ground. The other lowered its head, its eyes fixed intently on the humans, its muscles coiled and ready to strike. Ivory raised a single clawed hand, signaling them to hold back.

"You think words can fix this?" she asked, her voice softer but no less menacing. She stepped closer, her golden eyes boring into Alan's with an intensity that made him feel as though she could see straight into his soul. "Do you know what it feels like to lose your children, to have them stolen out from under you? And you offer words?"

Alan hesitated, searching for the right thing to say, but there was no time. Ivory's snarl softened, her expression shifting into something more thoughtful—yet no less intimidating. "Fine," she said at last. "Take them back. To the beach, as you said." She turned her gaze to Billy, her tone darkening. "But understand this: if I ever see you near a nest again, you'll wish the island itself had swallowed you whole."

Billy nodded frantically, too terrified to speak. Alan, sensing the weight of the reprieve, slowly extended his hand. "Thank you," he said, the words heavy with sincerity.

Ivory didn't respond. She turned sharply, her tail slicing through the air as she began to retreat. Her pack followed suit, their movements as fluid and precise as shadows melting into the forest. But just before she vanished completely, Ivory cast one last glance over her shoulder, her gaze lingering on Alan.

"Don't test me again," she warned, her voice carrying the finality of a closing door. Then she was gone, leaving the humans in a trembling silence punctuated only by the distant cries of the island's wild inhabitants.

SCENEBREAK

Billy paced nervously as Alan crouched down, carefully placing the stolen eggs into a shallow depression between the sand and scattered debris. The ocean waves rolled lazily in the background, the salty air mingling with the tension between them. Billy finally broke the silence, his voice rising in protest.

"We can't just leave them here in the sand, Alan. Other predators will come and steal them!" Billy's tone was a mix of desperation and defiance as he watched Alan pack sand particles gently around the eggs.

Alan stood abruptly, brushing the sand from his hands with sharp, frustrated movements. His expression was a storm of anger barely contained. "You've got nothing to say, Billy. Nothing." His voice was low but carried the weight of a leader pushed to his limit. "You did this again. We had her trust—Ivory trusted us not to take the eggs, not to make this mistake again." He gestured toward the eggs with a sweeping motion. "And here you are, making enemies of creatures we can't afford to antagonize!"

Amanda approached hesitantly, Paul trailing behind her. Her face was pale, her steps slow, but her guilt seemed to propel her forward. "I told him to take them," she admitted softly, her voice cracking as she spoke.

Alan spun to face her, his brows furrowing in disbelief as he stared at the woman who'd just confessed to unraveling their fragile truce. "What?" he barked, his tone sharp and incredulous.

Amanda shrank under his glare but managed to hold his gaze. "We thought—Paul and I—we thought that after what happened last time, after they nearly killed us, this could be...payback," she said, her voice breaking as she buried her face in her hands. "I'm sorry. I didn't think it would come to this."

Alan shook his head slowly, the anger ebbing into a heavy weariness. His voice, though quieter, was no less cutting. "Payback? You thought stealing their children would somehow even the score?" He paused, his gaze shifting from Amanda to Billy and back again. "Do you even hear yourselves? You've made this about us—about you—when it was never about that. These creatures, they're just surviving. And now we've put a target on our backs. Again."

Paul, who had remained silent until now, stepped forward. "We made a mistake," he admitted, his voice gruff but sincere. "We were scared, Alan. Still are. We thought..." He trailed off, looking down at the sand as if searching for words buried beneath it.

Alan let out a long breath, his hand running through his hair as he tried to rein in his frustration. "Being scared doesn't give you the right to play god with their lives," he said, his tone a blend of exhaustion and disappointment. "Now, we have to fix this. Fast. Or none of us are making it off this island alive."

The group fell into a heavy silence, the gravity of Alan's words sinking in. The eggs lay nestled in the sand, fragile reminders of the delicate balance they had disrupted. Nearby, the ocean continued its ceaseless rhythm, a stark contrast to the chaos brewing both within their group and within the island itself.