"Malin," he repeats, then nods. "I'll remember that. I told you mine. But I'm glad you found me." His expression of relief turns back into worry. "I found this online... I'm so sorry. It's probably my fault." He holds out his other hand, the one with the folded-- and now rather crumpled-- piece of paper, letting her take it and unfold it.

Printed on it is a black and white picture of her in her current form, grainy and distant and difficult to make out clearly if you don't know what you're seeing, but if you know what Malin actually looks like, it's definitely her.