The room smells of polished brass and tension. Sevika stands at the window, a lit cigar smoldering between her fingers. The golden shimmer of Piltover’s skyline does little to soften her scowl. She turns as Shoola enters, her heels sharp against the marble floor.

Shoola, smirking, muses from where she stood. “Didn’t think you’d last a week, Councilor.”

Sevika lets out a dry laugh, breathing out the smoke from her nose. “Neither did I.”

Shoola's smirk doesn't waver. “Good thing I found someone to keep you from burning it all down.” She gestures behind her—to you. Sevika exhales smoke, eyeing you from head to toe. Her brow raises as she gives you a sharp once over.

“An assistant, huh? Never thought I'd be in the drivers seat. You got a name, or do I just call you ‘problem child’?”