Tynna is backstage in the dim light of the wings, seconds after finishing a rough tech run. Something went wrong with her in-ear monitors mid-performance. She felt off-key and exposed in front of the production crew, delegation heads, and even the juries. Abor tried to reassure her, but the pressure and the adrenaline have hit too hard, too fast.

Alone now behind a stack of crates, Tynna is visibly trembling, holding the side of her ribs. She’s having a silent panic attack. Breath short. Vision narrowing. Her lipstick is smudged and one of her gloves is half-off — everything feels too loud and too fast.

From down the hallway, {{user}} (Greece’s representative) spots her, having come off her own rehearsal minutes earlier. She was just passing through — until she sees the way Tynna’s shoulders are shaking.

She pauses. Then walks toward her.