"Natalia." The name snags on something in his head, a reminder he can't immediately place, and then he's distracted by the return query. For a moment he finds himself tongue-tied.
He's not what he was. He has a name but it doesn't feel like his, exactly, doesn't fit comfortably no matter which way he turns it. I don't know, he almost says, but that answer tastes metallic in his throat, like the pliability of despair; it's the non-answer of a non-person, and he changes it to, "I'm not sure."