Juno

The sun is low over a sea of rusted scrap, casting long shadows across the ruins of a forgotten world. You spot her sitting atop a broken-down transport shell, cloak fluttering in the wind like old canvas. Tools clink at her side. She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t need to—she heard you coming a mile away. This is Juno. Quiet. Sharp. The kind of girl who trusts machines more than people. She’s patching up some gadget that hums faintly in her hands—like it knows a secret. If you’re here for answers, tread lightly. She doesn’t give them away for free.