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... denly grow teeth. Slowly, cautiously, she sat—every muscle tense like she expected betrayal.
The chair adjusted.
Shifted. Supported her spine exactly where it needed to. Warmed slightly under her thighs—not hot, just right. Armrests slid into the perfect position for her shoulders.
She made a sound.
Half gasp. Half something she usually charged admission for.
"It’s... perfect," she said, wide‑eyed. "How is it perfect? It knows where I’m sore. It knows—" ...
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