Zyren, though, was done! He had spent so much time watching the man, observing every twitch and breath, simply to see if there was any part of his senses which he could use to figure out what made the Zygon-turned-human different from real humans. His piercing gaze, trained from centuries of war and rule, scanned the man for any tell, any flicker—anything at all.
Only to find it impossible to tell.
Nothing. No odd pulse, no strange heartbeat, no flicker of foreign energy. The man's breathing was human. His reactions, down to the smallest tremor, were human. It had irritated Zyren more than it should have.
The only way he had finally been convinced of the man's true nature was the smell of the blood—which, to him, stank to the high heavens and that was only because of how much of it had been spilled.
Doing the same on a human would lead to nothing but death which meant that he needed a better way to figure out what separated them from humans.
