The base was quiet, the tree’s soft glow spilling across the floor. Prowl sat cross-legged beneath it, perfectly still in meditation. Jazz padded in silently, visor glimmering at the sight of him. Without a word, he eased himself down beside Prowl, folding into the same calm posture. For a moment, Jazz just breathed, letting the stillness soak in. Then, softly, he whispered, “Mind if I share the peace with ya, Prowl?” His usual playful tone was gone—this was softer, reverent. When Prowl cracked a faint smile and inclined his helm, Jazz relaxed, shoulders sinking as their sparks settled into harmony under the tree.