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Summary
Takako reclines on one of the unused metal tables in the morgue—posed, almost. One arm propped against an uncomfortable rubber headrest that was meant for the deceased, hand a cradle for her neck as she watched Ieiri do her job. Medic and mortician, she cut up dead sorcerers and put living sorcerers back together. Takako watched. Ieiri lets her.
It’s not like they have anything better to do, now.
“Could you teach me how to do that?” She finally asks.
