"That's your--" The shock on his face, in his voice, quickly turns to anger as well. "That's not your name-- That's her name!" Not only does his grip tighten, but he gives her a quick shake. Not enough to hurt, but enough to jar her. "Tell me who you are! Why you have her name, her face, her fucking voice with that accent - who are you!?" His accent has thickened slightly, Brooklyn blending with the older, buried Irish he'd learned from his mother first. Rage and grief clog his throat, heat his eyes, but he'll be damned if he sheds a tear in front of this-- this imposter.