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“What's your name?”
He scratches at his cheek. “People call me Stiles.”
It sounds like something he came up with to make it harder to find him – assuming there's even anyone left to look for him. If he's out here, doing what he does, it's highly probable that he doesn't. “What's your real name?”
A smile, self-deprecating. “Does it matter? I don't have one anymore.”