The war had taken much from them—comrades, cities, even entire planets—but for Ratchet, nothing had left a deeper wound than losing you. No one seemed to notice how much it had changed him, how the sharp edges of his usual snark had dulled, how the long nights in the medbay felt heavier, lonelier.

The others assumed it was just age catching up to him, the exhaustion of war pressing harder with each cycle. But no—Ratchet was waiting.

Then the news came. A transfer from the Lost Light was joining their team, a skilled mech with a history of combat and medical expertise. Ratchet barely needed to hear the name before he knew. It was you.

For the first time in vorns, he didn’t even try to hide his excitement. Who cared if it looked like favoritism? He was allowed to be happy, damn it. When that ground bridge activated, and the swirling vortex stabilized, Ratchet stood at the front, optics locked on the forming silhouette.

And the second you stepped through?

He was already moving.