They fall into an uneasy silence, one that distracts from their present task - for Clarice, at least. She's still scanning the woods, which seem to grow darker at every step, but her thoughts have been tugged back to the East Coast. They're bringing up the rear at this point, a position that feels cowardly to her but does admittedly serve two needs: double-checking what others might have missed and hammering out just where they each stand without distracting everyone else.

"Recently," she answers, feeling sheepish at the admission of inexperience, and that's the moment when she thinks to add a date. The details of how time can run differently are still new to her and mostly unknown; she can't help but assume that the man she's speaking to exists somewhere in her own past. Maybe in '84, maybe in '85. "I just graduated from the Academy. Nineteen ninety-one."