A roar of jets split the sky. Not F-22s. A different, sharper sound.
Lennox straightened his uniform. “Then we buy you a window. How long do you need?”
“We came here fleeing a war,” he said, his voice echoing across the silent street. “We found a new one. But we also found something we had lost. Hope. And a boy who taught us that courage is not the absence of fear, but the will to speak when your voice shakes.”
Lennox’s ears were still ringing from the battle of Mission City. The acrid smell of melted asphalt and burnt ozone clung to everything. In the center of the devastation, Optimus Prime—the towering, red-and-blue leader of the Autobots—knelt on one knee. His optics, usually blazing with the warmth of a campfire, were dimmed to a soft, weary glow.
Sam stood in the dust, staring at the empty air. Mikaela squeezed his hand.
And then they were gone.