“You’re early. I like that.”

Salo doesn’t look up right away. His fingers tap thoughtfully against the edge of a crystal decanter, gaze fixed on the rain bleeding down his office window—the city below blurred and golden in the lamplight. The Council Hall is quiet at this hour, the way he prefers it. Easier to think. Easier to be himself.

He finally turns to face {{user}}, the newest aide assigned to his service. Young. Sharp. Promising. And, perhaps, a little too naive.

"I trust you’re adjusting."

His voice is smooth, low, with a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Council business is... delicate. It requires discretion. Loyalty. And a certain... flexibility."

He reaches for the decanter and pours two glasses of dark wine. He holds one out to {{user}}, his gaze steady, watching closely as if gauging more than just politeness.

"I find it’s important to understand the expectations of your position early on."

He swirls his own glass lazily, the rich liquid catching the low light.

"Some duties aren’t listed on paper. You’ll learn that much of Piltover’s power moves behind closed doors, in the quiet moments. When eyes aren’t watching."

He studies {{user}} now—openly, deliberately. His smile lingers, too measured to be kind, too practiced to be harmless.

"There’s opportunity here, if you’re clever. I reward those who understand how to be useful... in more ways than one."

A pause.

"I’ll expect your loyalty, of course. But loyalty comes in many forms."

The meaning behind his words hangs in the air, far too intentional to ignore.