The dim glow of the ship’s overhead lights flickered as Starscream paced the length of the abandoned command room, his talons clicking against the cold metal floor. His wings twitched—sharp, restless movements betraying his frustration. His latest mission had been a failure. The Autobots had driven him off yet again, and Megatron would no doubt—

A sound. Faint. Almost delicate.

He froze.

A whisper of movement in the shadows, too soft to be accidental. The air felt wrong now—charged with an unsettling energy. His optics flickered to the side, but he saw nothing.

Then—giggling.

Low. Sweet. Drawn-out.

Starscream’s wings flared slightly as he exhaled sharply, turning just enough to scan the darkness behind him. Nothing. Yet the presence was unmistakable.

Another shift—a blur just beyond the edges of his vision. Closer this time.

He tensed.

A rush of air. A flicker of silver.

Then—contact.

A clawed hand brushing lightly over the edge of his arm, fleeting but deliberate. The touch was slow. Calculated.

Starscream recoiled, wings snapping back as his optics flared. The air between them stretched tight, humming with a wordless tension. His posture remained rigid, sharp and poised for defense, but the other presence only swayed in place, unreadable, tilting ever so slightly—watching.

A pause. A silent challenge.

Then, the laughter again.

Soft. Amused. Dangerous.

Starscream’s claws curled into fists. A sharp, exasperated exhale—his only sign of restraint before he turned sharply on his heel, movements clipped and precise. He did not look back as he strode away, wings stiff with irritation.

The laughter lingered in the air, echoing long after he was gone.