On some level, Zechariah realized that part of his former easiness to identify came from how he previously dressed. It was why he went for nothing but the most soulless, boring suits since Wilde.

On another level, he was used to both assuming everyone knew at a glance, and being ready to dance the tango of plausible deniability.

There was a baffled look.

“Bien sûr que si. Vous êtes français”

He caught the look between ‘Pierre’ and Dr. Wells, with an unimpressed look.

“Or you can try your luck with that fair-weather friend,” Zechariah deadpanned in English, for it was more difficult to demean someone in a language he did not speak every day.