The tension in the room was suffocating. No one dared to speak, not even Bumblebee, who usually tried to mediate before things spiraled out of control. But this? This was beyond repair. Strongarm had dug herself into a pit, and Rodimus stood at the edge, looking down at her with fire in his optics.

Strongarm swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his glare. “I was just—”

“You were just what?” Rodimus cut in, his voice sharp enough to make Grimlock straighten. “Running your mouth? Trying to put Sideswipe in his place? Making yourself feel bigger by tearing someone else down?”

She stiffened, vents hitching. “That’s not— I mean, I was just—”

Rodimus stepped closer, optics blazing. “Save it. I don’t need excuses.” He turned, optics flicking briefly to Sideswipe, then back to the rest of the team. “I’ve been hearing reports for weeks about how he’s treated here. I didn’t believe them at first—I thought, maybe, he was exaggerating. But now? Now I don’t need reports.” His optics narrowed. “I heard it myself.”

The weight of his words settled over the team like a storm cloud. Bumblebee’s gaze dropped to the ground, expression tight. Grimlock rumbled but said nothing. Drift looked wholly unimpressed, arms crossed.

And Sideswipe? He was quiet. No smirk, no sarcastic jab. Just standing there, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He wasn’t gloating. He had already won.

Strongarm could feel it, that creeping sense of loss. She had lost control of the conversation, lost control of the situation, lost—

“That’s why I’m here,” Rodimus said, his voice final. “Sideswipe’s done with this slag heap of a team.”

Strongarm’s optics widened. “Wait—what?”

“You heard me.” Rodimus turned to Sideswipe. “Pack your things. You’re coming with me. To the Lost Light.”

Sideswipe didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t glance back, didn’t gloat. He just nodded.

And that’s when it sank in.

He was leaving.

And she couldn’t stop it.