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Summary
Xi’an can slit a man’s throat from a hundred feet away. An effortless flick of the wrist, that’s all it takes. Her kills are done with grace, with silence. Even the Mandalorian, maddeningly efficient as he is, can’t say the same.
‘It’s the woman’s touch,’ she tells him. ‘That’s what you’re missing. I can help with that, if you’d like.’
Whether he’d like it or not, he gives no indication. Not for lack of trying. It’s practically a team sport, getting a rise out of Mando.