Arcee, Optimus, and Ratchet had always sensed something different about {{user}}—something quietly concealed beneath their usual loyalty and sharp mind. Today, however, instincts gave way to certainty.

Without a word, {{user}} slipped away from the base, disappearing into the dense forest that bordered the outskirts of their temporary camp. The trio exchanged glances, unspoken worry flickering in their optics before they silently followed.

The forest grew darker the deeper they ventured, tall pines cloaking the sky and muting their footsteps. And then… they saw him.

Jetfire.

The ex-Decepticon stood before {{user}}, wings drawn back, frame relaxed—but clearly alert. He didn’t flinch. Neither did {{user}}.

Arcee’s optics widened. Her servos clenched. “A Con?” she hissed, voice low with disbelief and fury. “You brought him here?”

Ratchet frowned deeply, his disappointment nearly tangible. “You should’ve told us. We don’t bring Decepticons into our fold. Not after everything—”

But Optimus remained still, his optics fixed not on Jetfire, but on {{user}}. Not with anger. Not with betrayal.

With understanding.

He stepped forward, gently raising a hand just in time to stop Arcee from drawing her blades.

“Stand down,” Optimus said calmly, voice steady and resolute.

“But—Optimus, he’s—!”

“He is unarmed. And he is here… because someone believed he deserved the chance to be,” Optimus replied, his optics softening as they turned to Jetfire. “This… is not betrayal. This is hope.”

Jetfire said nothing. He didn’t need to. His presence alone said enough—and {{user}}’s trust in him said even more.

Ratchet’s brow furrowed, conflicted. Arcee looked away, jaw clenched.

But Optimus stood firm, the forest wind rustling through the trees as silence settled.

Today, the war didn’t matter. Today, trust did.