age: twenty-two
hometown: los angeles
occupation: songwriter | producer
Juno Hollis was built for movement. Raised in the hum and grit of L.A., she grew up backstage and front row, the daughter of a rock icon and an artist who vanished into the desert without a trace. She doesn’t talk about that part much, but it left her with a restless streak and a deep pull toward the unknown.
She gave college a shot — briefly. One semester in, she realized she wasn’t built for lecture halls or early mornings. Nights in dive bars and rooftop shows felt more like an education anyway. The rock ‘n’ roll scene wasn’t just her inheritance; it was home.
Juno could have taken the easy route — industry connections, a last name people recognize — but she’s not interested in handouts. The stage never felt like hers anyway. The music did. She found her place in dimly lit studios, layering sounds, writing lyrics that cut deep, shaping something real without having to sell herself in the process.
L.A. is in her bones. The heat, the chaos, the contradictions. She moves through it on her own terms, no set destination, just a beat to follow.
Juno sat with her hands clenched in her lap, nails biting into her palm, shivering from a combination of the air conditioning and her nerves. She hadn’t spoken since arriving that morning. Just nodded through the instructions. Let herself be led to the witness room. Waited. Waited. Waited.
When they finally called her name, she thought she might throw up. Her knees shook when she stood, but she walked anyway down that long, silent aisle with all those eyes on her. Lotus was in the second row. Her face pale. Her jaw clenched. Tanner, Aya, Thalia, and of course, her Claire, sat close by.
Juno wore exactly what the prosecutor said to: no bright colors, no bold lips, no heels. Just a soft blouse and slacks. Her glasses. Barely a lick of makeup. She didn’t feel like herself. Maybe that was the point.
She took the oath with a trembling hand. The prosecution started. Gentle, at first. “Do you remember the night in question, Juno?”
She nodded. Then found her voice. “Yeah. I… I remember everything.” They walked her through it piece by piece. Her arrival at the house. The crowd. The lights. The music. And Dax. Always Dax. “He… he hugged me when I got there,” she said. “Told me how proud he was. Handed me a drink.”
“Did you see what was in it?”
“No.” She swallowed. “I—I just drank it. Like I always did.”
“And then?”
“Things got weird really quickly. I remember laughing, but everything started feeling… heavy. My arms. My head. My mouth felt like it was full of cotton.” Her voice cracked.
“Who approached you next?”
“Allen Dupree.” Her eyes darted toward the defense table, then away. “And another guy. I—I don’t know his name.” She described the hallway. The door. The dark. “The bed.” Her voice broke. “Allen carried me there.” Her hands were fists in her lap now. “I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream. It was like my brain was screaming but my body wouldn’t… wouldn’t listen.” She shook her head. “I remember Allen saying something about how pretty I looked like that. And then…” She couldn’t say it. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.
The prosecutor paused. Gave her a moment. Juno squeezed her eyes shut. Tears slipped down her cheeks. “They took turns raping me. And I remember it. Every second. I remember crying and nobody hearing me. Or maybe they just didn’t care.” By the time the prosecution rested, she felt hollow. Barely holding it together.
The defense attorney stood. Smug. Confident. A vulture in a suit. “You say you were intoxicated, Ms. Hollis, but earlier that night, you posted this tweet.” He clicked something on a screen. “Quote: ‘Allen Dupree might be the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. My god.’ Sound familiar?”
She stared at the screen. Her lips parted. “I… yeah. I said that.”
“But this was before the incident. So… you were attracted to him?”
“Well, yeah… but that doesn’t mean—.”
“Were you drinking that night?”
“Yeah,” she replied, quieter now.
“And were you drunk?”
“I was drugged.”
“So you can’t say for sure what happened, can you? You were impaired. You were in a party atmosphere. You tweeted about your attraction to Mr. Dupree. Is it possible this was just a hook-up you regretted later?”
Her head snapped up. “No.”
“Explain that to us.”
She sat up straighter. Her voice was shaky but gaining power from some broken part inside of her. “I’ve been drunk before. I’ve blacked out before. I’ve hooked up with people I probably shouldn’t have. But that—” she jabbed a finger toward the defense table, “—was not a hook-up.”
“You were unconscious?”
“I was… I was there, but I wasn’t there. I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t say anything. And Dax made sure of that.” She turned toward the jury. “He gave me the drink. He knew what would happen.” The defense tried to cut in, but Juno kept going. “Men like Dax... like Allen… they’re stains on the world. On people like me. You walk around with them on you forever. Even after you scrub and scrub and try to move on, they’re still there. Still rotting somewhere under your skin.”
Juno’s voice cracked. Her throat was raw. “I didn’t ask for any of it. I didn’t flirt with it. I didn’t want it. They took something from me I’ll never get back.”
The courtroom was silent. Frozen in her truth.
The defense attorney blinked, lips parted like he might say something, but he didn’t. “Nothing further,” he said at last, and sat down.
The words tasted like blood in Juno’s mouth. Metallic. Bitter. Across the bed, Lotus blinked at her like she hadn’t heard right. “What?” she asked sharply. “Why would you say that?”
Still in their pajamas, Juno sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, phone clutched tight in her hand. She scrolled, showing Lotus the texts of vague replies, sudden plans to “visit her brother in San Diego,” silence where there used to be constant connection.
“She’s been distant,” Juno whispered. “Like she’s already halfway out the door. And she won’t tell me what’s wrong. I don’t understand.”
Lotus handed the phone back with a frown that didn’t quite mask her concern. “Something’s off, yeah. But she’s not leaving you. That girl worships you. She’s been weird with me too, but it’s not… this.” A pause. “Come on. Let’s go grab a snack. Leave your phone upstairs. Just breathe for a second.”
Juno hesitated, then nodded, desperate for something, anything, to quiet the storm in her chest. The relief never came.
By the time she made it back upstairs, her hands were already trembling as she reached for her phone, praying for a message. A wall of apologies. A voice memo. Anything.
She had a voicemail.
Her stomach dropped.
Juno pressed play with a hopeful thumb, but as Claire’s voice poured through the speaker, every fiber of her body locked.
“—You’ve brought out the strength in me that I didn’t even know was there. I know I can do this. I can end this so you’re safe. I won’t let him hurt you, Juney. I’ll kill him even if he kills me, I’ll end him so you’re safe. Listen, by the time you listen to this and head to me, it will be too late—.”
Juno couldn’t breathe. She could barely hear the rest. Her thumb slipped, almost dropping the phone to the floor as a sob tore up her throat like it had claws. “LOTUS!” she screamed, stumbling out of the room, wild-eyed and shaking. “Get your keys. NOW.”
Lotus didn’t waste a second. She grabbed them and bolted. Juno was already on the phone with 9-1-1, voice cracking as she gave the address from Claire’s voicemail, a shitty motel on the outskirts of town. Room five. Room five. Room five.
The ride there was a blur of chaos. Juno was half-sobbing, half-hyperventilating, begging the dispatcher to hurry, while Lotus wove recklessly through traffic. Neither of them said it out loud, but the fear sat between them like a shadow: what if they were too late?
Not Claire. Not her Claire. Not the literal angel of her life. Please, not her.
When they reached the motel, Juno barely waited for the car to stop. She sprinted to the door, her feet forgetting how to hesitate. Room five was locked so she threw her shoulder against it once. Twice. A third time, and the door cracked open under the force of her panic.
And then she saw him.
Dax. On top of Claire. His hands where they didn’t belong. A knife to her throat. Claire’s face twisted in terror, tears streaking her cheeks.
Juno didn’t scream. She roared.
“GET OFF OF HER!”
She launched herself across the room ready to claw his eyes out, but before her fists made contact, Dax’s body hit the floor with a sickening thud. Juno barely processed what happened. It wasn’t her.
It was Lotus.
Standing in the doorway. Holding a floor lamp like a weapon. Her chest heaving. Face white with rage.
Everything froze.
Juno dropped to her knees and pulled Claire into her arms, rocking her gently, running trembling fingers through her hair. Claire clung to her like she might drown. “You’re safe now,” Juno whispered, over and over, forehead pressed to hers. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. He’ll never touch you again.”
Outside, sirens wailed like wolves. Closer. Closer.
This time, justice was coming, and it wasn’t just for Juno anymore… it was for all of them.
