The words echoed in his head.
'It's more than just a secret, isn't it?'
Wishing Rose was here, slumped with him on a sofa in the library, so he wouldn't have to think about it by himself. All the times she'd asked and he'd evaded the question. All along he'd known why, but he hadn't known, not really.
It was so much more than just a secret.
Standing; seeing his reflection in the mirror. And this time, the question, 'who am I?' meant so much more.
"I can't remember," he whispered to the reflection. "I can't remember my own name."