Cambodia? The idea left her reeling, enough that she allowed him to nudge her toward the table and chairs, part of what looked to be a patio connected to a larger tent. The familiar-not-familiar sense was still there, like she ought to recognize her surroundings, but it slipped through her fingers.
When Duncan sat, Katya hesitated only a couple of beats before doing the same. She couldn't think of anything else to do. What was her name? It swam out of her reach for a second, returning only when she blinked a few times. "Katya. My name is Katya." Her voice had forgotten the accent she'd had when she was young, the sharp sounds and rounded vowels of Western Europe. The leftover hints of a posh lilt sounded foreign and strange to her own ears – someone else's voice.
"I don't remember coming here," she offered, trying to work through the fog of half-memories and the feeling of something else scrabbling at her thoughts, desperate to push them aside. "To Cambodia, or to... wherever here is. I was in London..."