The six loops weren't wing joints.

They were an invitation to look at feathers. That much, at least, led somewhere real. Researchers had found six quill knobs on a Velociraptor forearm: attachment points for feathers.

I put the paper beside the model. A skeleton can make you forget the living surface around it. The animal in my head was already changing.

Feathered didn't mean flying. I wrote that down too.

Then I drew three versions. One close to the evidence. One extravagant enough to look like a bird from a nightmare. One with wings that belonged entirely to imagination.

The last version felt familiar.

Not convincing. Not scientifically possible. Familiar. Like a tune you recognise before you can name it.

I found a note folded inside the back cover. The paper was clean, except for three points arranged above a curved line.

A crown, I thought.

I drew the symbol beside the winged raptor. For a moment, the creature looked less like a hunter than something carrying a message. That was my interpretation. The bones hadn't told me any such thing.

I turned the note over.

One word: Wrong.

Underneath, a second drawing. The same three points. This time attached to a skull.

I looked across the shelf.

The Triceratops was facing the wall. I remembered leaving it facing me.