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    On-screen, a slow-motion shot of the Gorn Matriarch yawning—revealing three rows of dagger-teeth—played over a somber piano chord. A new voice, calm and British, said: “The Gorn does not hunt for sport. She hunts for legacy. But watch closely… the Tholians have a secret weapon.”

    On the screen, a massive, crystalline structure drifted in the nebula. It was beautiful—bioluminescent veins pulsing with a slow, rhythmic light. But that wasn’t what had silenced the bridge.

    Tilly, who had just walked onto the bridge, turned beet red. “I didn’t consent to that!”