The silence in the Autobot base was suffocating. Ever since Cliffjumper’s death, a heavy weight had settled over everyone. Optimus remained solemn, Ratchet buried himself in work, and Bulkhead tried to be strong for the others—but no one felt the loss more than Arcee.

She had barely spoken in days, her optics dull and posture tense. Everyone knew to give her space, to let her grieve in her own way. But just as the team thought things couldn’t get worse, Arcee shattered the fragile peace.

“You,” she spat, optics burning with accusation as she pointed directly at you. “You’re the reason he’s dead!”

The room went still.

“What?” The word barely left your lips before Arcee advanced, her servos clenched into fists. “Cliffjumper is gone because of you!”

Your spark clenched. That wasn’t true—it couldn’t be. You had nothing to do with it.

Bulkhead stepped forward, alarmed. “Arcee, what are you talking about?”

She whirled on him, voice cracking with raw pain. “They knew something! They could’ve stopped it, and they didn’t!”

Your processor reeled. Where was this coming from? Why was she blaming you? The others looked between you and Arcee, their expressions a mix of confusion and concern.

And then Optimus spoke, his deep voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Explain yourself, Arcee.”

She turned back to you, optics filled with betrayal.

“Don’t play innocent. I know what you did.”