who: dyna emery & open where: the training center, combat station 4
Dyna stood near the hand-to-hand mat, arms loosely crossed, one hip resting against the edge of a padded divider. The training hall buzzed around her. Metal clashing, voices murmuring, tributes rotating between stations like pieces on a game board. Above it all, the Gamemakers watched from their perch, sipping from crystal glasses like they were here for a show.
Sheβd learned not to look up at them.
Instead, she focused on the mat beneath her feet, the scuff marks worn in from too many hours of contact drills. The station had always been her favorite, something about the simplicity of it. No weapons. No theatrics. Just movement. Precision. Breath.
Footsteps approached. She glanced up as a victor turned tribute stepped into the station. Someone familiar, though that wasnβt saying much. They were all familiar.
She offered a small nod, letting her arms drop to her sides.
βMorning,β she said, voice low but even, the Capitol crispness softened at the edges. βThis is Station Four. Hand-to-hand.β A faint breath of a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. βWeβll start slow. Basic stance, then reaction drills. No need to impress anyone.β
Her eyes flicked briefly - just once - toward the glass above.
βJust stay on your feet.β















