The bus rumbled over the last gravel bend and pulled into a gravel clearing flanked by two low buildings—converted barns, repurposed into field accommodation. The surrounding moor was thick with bracken and hawthorn, the air tinged with peat and the distant call of curlews. A small wooden sign read:
Moorcroft Field Research Station – University of Exeter.
Students poured out, stretching limbs and pulling luggage from the undercarriage. The wind here was wilder—crisper somehow—and Sylvara inhaled deeply, boots crunching as she stepped onto the gravel.
"Everyone!" the supervisor called. "Please gather up your kit and come to the west barn for briefing."
Sylvara shouldered her bag and followed the group inside. The briefing hall smelled of old wood and fresh coffee, with field maps pinned along one wall and a whiteboard already scribbled with team assignments.
The supervisor gestured toward the layout.
"We're splitting into habitat teams—woodland, grassland, river edge. You'll be collecting mammal data using motion-sensor cameras, live traps, and acoustic bat detectors. Some of your observations will require pre-dawn or night setup."
She looked around. "We'll rotate shifts. Equipment deployment starts tomorrow, but some of you might want to set up gear overnight tonight to begin recording by dawn."
That was Sylvara's cue.
She raised a hand. "Can I deploy a bat detector tonight? I'd like to capture the early foraging period."
The supervisor nodded. "Good initiative. There's a dense oak copse north of the ridge—we've seen noctule and pipistrelle activity there before. You'll need to get there before nightfall, though."
Acacia snorted behind her. "Of course, the freak wants to sneak off alone in the woods…"
Sylvara didn't turn. "Maybe I like solitude. It filters out the noise."
Naomi nudged her gently in amusement.
"That's enough, Smith and Lovell."
The supervisor gave them a moment, scanning the room as the buzz of shifting feet and whispered glances returned.
"Alright, is there anyone else who wants to volunteer for early setup?"
A hand shot up from the grassland group.
"Yeah, I'll go," said Josh, a lanky student with sunburnt cheeks and an enthusiasm that always bordered on overcaffeinated. "I want to set up one of the motion sensors near that rabbit warren we spotted on the drone footage."
"Excellent," the supervisor nodded. "You'll be assigned to the southern fields."
A girl with a pixie cut from the river edge team leaned forward next. "I'll go too—Mina," she introduced herself without waiting. "If I set the camera up near the water's edge tonight, I might catch otters or at least some mink tracks by morning."
"Very good thinking."
A quiet voice came last—Rafiq, a woodland team member, spoke up while fidgeting with the strap of his notebook. "I'll set my camera trap at the base of the glade path. I saw signs of fox activity on the way in."
The supervisor jotted each name on the whiteboard under "Night Deployment – Day 1."
She looked to the rest. "Alright, the rest of you will begin your rotations starting tomorrow. Briefing at 6 a.m.—don't be late."
Sylvara was checking her headlamp batteries beside the gear shed when Naomi approached, arms crossed over her chest.
"You're going alone?" she asked.
Sylvara looked up. "I'll be fine. I've got a map, GPS, and I'm not going far."
Naomi shrugged, then smiled. "Well, one of my team already volunteered, and we don't all need to be there for the setup tonight. So technically, I'm free."
Sylvara arched a brow.
Naomi grinned. "And someone should keep you company. Not that I don't trust your wilderness survival skills, Miss 'I Like Solitude'… but I brought protein bars."
Sylvara laughed, reluctantly swayed. "Fine. But you carry your snacks."
…
They trekked up the narrow path, boots crunching against the pine needles and moss. The sun had dipped lower now, casting long shadows across the bracken as the forest thickened around them.
Naomi trailed beside Sylvara, one hand gripping a snack bar while the other scrolled lazily through her phone.
"Okay, you have to hear this," she said, lips twitching. "So apparently, during that massive frat party two nights ago? Someone actually snuck a goat into the living room. A goat, Sylva. And that's not even the weirdest part."
Sylvara glanced up briefly from her GPS. "Do I want to know the weirdest part?"
Naomi grinned. "The goat ate half a box of weed brownies and then headbutted the DJ's speaker setup."
Sylvara snorted softly, eyes shifting back to the undergrowth. "Sounds like it had a better night than most people there."
Naomi kept going, voice bright with laughter as she read aloud more anonymous messages—affairs revealed, dares gone wrong, and someone supposedly getting stuck in a dryer. Sylvara listened with one ear, mentally plotting the terrain while her gaze drifted to the silhouettes of oak branches overhead.
Then it happened.
Naomi's laugh cut off with a yelp as her boot caught on a gnarled root. She pitched forward, arms flailing—but Sylvara reacted fast, grabbing her by the elbow and steadying her.
"I got you," she said reflexively, tightening her grip.
But in the next heartbeat, something shifted.
A deep, unfamiliar throb reverberated through her bones. Not pain exactly—but resonance.
She gasped.
The world tilted.
Her vision wavered like heat over asphalt then cracked open—
—
She stood in a sterile, white hospital theatre. Harsh lights glared from above. A woman on the birthing table screamed through a contraction as doctors and nurses crowded around her, urging her to push.
Sylvara stumbled back instinctively, breath caught in her throat. She looked down—still in her hiking clothes—but no one saw her.
She turned in place, touching her chest and arms in disbelief. She was here—but she wasn't here.
The woman cried out one final time before the sharp wail of a newborn cut through the air.
The room exhaled. A nurse held up a tiny, flushed infant, and the mother's sob of joy filled the space.
Sylvara's eyes locked on the baby just as the scene slid sideways like shifting panes of memory—
—
Now she was in a ward room. Softer lights. The same woman reclined on a hospital bed, cradling her baby to her chest with a quiet smile. The door opened, and a man in a suit rushed in, slightly out of breath.
He stopped at the sight, eyes wide. "Is this… our baby?"
The woman beamed. "Yes, it's our daughter."
He stepped closer, awe softening his features. "O-our daughter?"
"Do you want to hold her? Oh, look, she's reaching for you."
He hesitated, hands trembling, before she gently passed the baby into his arms.
He looked down at the tiny face and laughed, choked with emotion. "After four boys… we finally have a girl."
"I know," the mother whispered, brushing away a tear.
Then the man looked up, hesitating again. "What should we name her? I didn't know you were going to give birth to a girl."
The woman smiled, already ready. "I have a name."
"Really?"
She took his hand. "Naomi. Her name will be Naomi."
He repeated it softly, "Naomi Woods."
He bent over the baby with reverence. "Hello, Naomi Woods."
The name echoed in Sylvara's ears like the toll of a bell.
And then the scene shattered.
—
She was back in the woods.
Still holding Naomi's arm.
The forest had gone still—unnaturally so. No breeze. No birdsong. Naomi frozen mid-turn, mouth half open, her phone dangling at her side. Even the air felt held.
Sylvara blinked.
And just like that, everything returned. The trees sighed again in the breeze, and Naomi shifted in her grip.
"Hey, what happened?" Naomi asked, her brow creased with concern.
Sylvara dropped her arm like it burned. "I—uh… I'm fine."
Naomi tilted her head. "You sure?"
"Yeah. Just got a bit lightheaded. I'm good. Let's keep moving."
"…Okay."
⸻
Later, Sylva crouched by the base of a gnarled oak, fiddling with the bat detector. She'd reset it twice already while almost forgetting the memory card—her hands slower than usual, her mind drifting back to what she saw. Naomi kept calling her name every time she zoned out.
"Alright, I'm done." Sylva patted her thigh and stood, brushing her hands on her cargo pants.
Naomi looked around, arms folded. "The instructor wasn't kidding. This oak copse is thick. Like, creepy fairy tale dense."
"Yeah," Sylvara murmured, gathering her gear. "Let's head back."
They started back down the trail. The sky was now a deepening blue, and the path glowed faintly silver under the moonlight slipping through branches.
They walked without talking. The quiet was heavier now, laced with thought. Sylva kept replaying what she saw—the crying woman, the baby, the name.
Naomi.
Sylva couldn't lie to herself, she'd seen a memory, and that memory was Naomi's birth.
Wait, was it even a memory? …Babies don't remember being born. And Naomi hadn't said a word about anything weird happening just now. So it wasn't a memory.
Sylva pressed her lips together, crunching over a patch of fallen twigs. The air felt cooler now and every crackle underfoot seemed louder than it should've been. Her grip on her gear tightened.
She could still feel the imprint of that scene in her head. And the name. Naomi Woods.
She turned her head slightly to glance at the real Naomi, walking beside her. There was no denying it. Same hair. Same name. Same story. And somehow, Sylva had seen a part of her life that no one should've been able to see.
She'd just witnessed Naomi's birth which was years ago.
She just witnessed something that happened in the past.
A flicker of unease crawled up her spine.
Then came the rustle.
Loud. Not just leaves—branches. Movement. Not wind.
They both stopped.
Naomi's head snapped toward the trees. "You heard that, right?"
Sylva's voice was low. "Yeah."
They stood still, listening. The noise had come from ahead and to the right—too far for an echo, too close for comfort.
Naomi squinted into the gloom. "You think it's bats?"
Sylva shook her head slowly. "Bats don't make that kind of noise. Not unless one's flying straight into a bush."
"Maybe… maybe it's just a badger or a deer?" Naomi offered, but her tone had shifted.
"Or maybe one of the other teams?" she added.
Sylva didn't answer. She knew the habitats were far apart. They weren't supposed to cross into each other's zones, especially not this deep in.
Still, it had only been one noise. One rustle.
She made herself breathe. "Let's just get back."
They started walking again, a little faster this time.
Sylva glanced over her shoulder once, but the trees stood quiet, unmoving.