"Sir?" Katelina backlit from outside. Darius at his desk reading field reports. "Yes?" "Time, sir. Unless we want you to be late." "No, thank you. I'm done here."

Fashionably late sounds like nonsense invented to justify poor planning. The Hand Of Noxus arrives exactly on time.

"... So he's turned up. Good."

Hm.

Hm.

Hm.

Sea air. The scent and sting of salt.