The fourth day of Eagles training camp was supposed to be another brick in the wall — just install meetings, light drills, no headlines.

But then two empty chairs changed the temperature of the room. And in Philadelphia, discipline isn’t something you fix later. It’s something you feel instantly.

It wasn’t a coach who noticed first. It was a captain. A voice that doesn’t yell often, because it doesn’t need to.

Lane Johnson — the last remaining giant from the Super Bowl run — stood up from his seat and stared toward the door. The meeting had started. Two rookies had not.

They walked in four minutes late — just as the first install clip was freezing on the screen. Not a word was said. Just the heavy silence of thirty grown men who knew what that meant. In this city, being late isn’t about time. It’s about respect.

Elijah Jones, a lean, confident cornerback from Boston College with a nose for the ball and a chip on his shoulder. Jalyx Hunt, the raw edge rusher out of Houston Christian whose explosiveness turned heads on Day 2.

Both were making noise. Both were showing promise. But neither understood yet that in Philly, promise without accountability is just noise.

“You don’t just wear this jersey because you’re fast or explosive,” Lane said, his voice cutting through the quiet. “You earn it — by showing up, by respecting every damn minute. You wanna be an Eagle? Then act like one.”

There were no raised voices. Just a truth too sharp to ignore. Veterans nodded. They’d been there. They’d been humbled. They survived it — and that’s how they became Eagles.

After the meeting, Lane pulled both rookies aside — not to embarrass them, but to invite them in. Into the culture. Into the brotherhood. Into the standard that others before him bled to build.

For Elijah, it wasn’t about the swagger anymore. For Jalyx, it wasn’t about speed.

It was about what they do next. Whether they show up tomorrow at 6:45 instead of 7. Whether they stay late when no one’s watching. Whether they understand that in this locker room, there are no stars — only workers.

“You got the tools,” Lane told them quietly. “But Philly doesn’t care what you did in college. We care if you’re on time tomorrow.”

So they left the room that morning knowing what was really tested. Not their hands. Not their hips. Their heartbeat.