The answer gives him some pause, and Eleven eyes Five with some scrutiny. A question traces the back of his teeth, but he elects to hold it in reserve and ask once he's had more time to think about it. Time. He's tired of it already.

"Your name is Five," he answers, though it comes out more uncertain by the end than he means it to. He frowns and shifts again, hands curling into his baldric. Eleven casts about for anything else. "There's.. something wrong with this world- the cycle of it."