He had cut his cheek this morning while biting down breakfast, and his mouth still tasted of metallic blood.
He placed his thumb in his mouth. His incisors didn't feel longer, didn't feel heavy or sharper than normal.
But the blood pooling in the inside of his cheek told him that if his teeth were sharp enough to tear fragile human flesh that was designed to not tear, then it was time to take Jazz's metal nail file to his teeth again.