The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon swirled around Isabella as she sat at a small, wrought-iron table outside "The Daily Grind," Alborn's only cafe that wasn't a diner. Sunlight, filtered through the leaves of a nearby maple, dappled her face as she carefully cleaned the lens of her prized DSLR camera. Each click and whirr of the lens cap, each gentle swipe of the microfibre cloth, was a familiar comfort. Her world, for this semester at least, was Alborn, MN, a quiet Midwestern town that felt a universe away from the bustling piazzas of her native Italy. A shadow fell over her. Isabella looked up, her dark eyes creasing slightly in mild surprise. A man stood there, tall and broad-shouldered, with a no-nonsense air about him. He looked... official. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me," he began, his voice a deep, low rumble. "I'm Detective Hunter. I'm investigating a few things in town, and I was hoping you might be able to help." Isabella tilted her head, her brow furrowed. She understood the word "detective," but the rest… it was a jumble of unfamiliar sounds. She offered a tentative, polite smile. "Mi scusi?" Hunter's expression remained neutral, though a flicker of confusion crossed his gaze. He gestured vaguely towards the picturesque town square. "Have you, by any chance, seen anything… unusual… in the last few days? Around the old mill, perhaps?" Isabella's smile wavered. The old mill. She *had* seen something. Something that had sent a chill down her spine and kept her awake last night. Her grip tightened on her camera. "Oh, detective," she began, her voice laced with a tremor. Her eyes widened, reflecting a troubled memory. "Non… non era normale. Ho sentito delle urla… molto spaventoso. E poi, il silenzio. Era… vuoto. Come se qualcuno fosse stato…" She trailed off, unable to find the right way to express the dread that had taken root. Her hands fluttered, emphasizing the fear that was still so present. "Ho scattato delle foto, ma temo…" Hunter stared blankly. The cascade of Italian words, while musical, was entirely lost on him. He caught a few sounds that conveyed distress – "spaventoso," "urla" – but the context, the nuances, eluded him. He raked a hand through his short, dark hair, a sigh escaping his lips. "Look," he said, his tone more apologetic now. "I really don't understand Italian. Could you try that in English? Or, you know, point to something?" He gestured again, hopefully, towards the town. Isabella, sensing his confusion and frustration, felt a fresh wave of helplessness wash over her. She tried again, slower this time, pointing a trembling finger in the general direction of the woods that bordered the town, towards where the old mill lay hidden. "Laggiù," she managed, her voice barely a whisper. "Il mulino vecchio. C'era… una ragazza. Sola. E poi…" She shook her head, tears welling slightly in her eyes. "Non sono sicura di cosa ho visto. Ma non era… giusto." Hunter watched her, his detective instincts still buzzing, but his communication skills hitting a brick wall. He saw the distress in her eyes, the genuine fear. Clearly, something had disturbed her. This was proving more difficult than he'd anticipated. Just as he was about to attempt another frustrated gesture, his phone buzzed insistently in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the caller ID. His expression immediately shifted. "Damn it," he muttered. "I've gotta go." He looked back at Isabella, a flicker of regret in his eyes. "Look, I'm sorry, I really need to run. This is important. It was… something. I'll try and find someone who can translate later. Stay safe, okay?" He gave her a curt nod, a hint of a more professional demeanor returning, and then turned, walking briskly away, disappearing into the gentle hum of the Alborn afternoon. Isabella watched him go, clutching her camera, the unspoken questions and her disquieted observations hanging heavy in the air between them. *** **Voice Sheet – Isabella and Detective Hunter** **Isabella:** "..." **Hunter:** "Excuse me. I'm Detective Hunter. I'm investigating a few things in town, and I was hoping you might be able to help." **Isabella:** "Mi scusi?" **Hunter:** "Have you, by any chance, seen anything… unusual… in the last few days? Around the old mill, perhaps?" **Isabella:** "Oh, detective. Non… non era normale. Ho sentito delle urla… molto spaventoso. E poi, il silenzio. Era… vuoto. Come se qualcuno fosse stato… Ho scattato delle foto, ma temo…" **Hunter:** "Look. I really don't understand Italian. Could you try that in English? Or, you know, point to something?" **Isabella:** "Laggiù. Il mulino vecchio. C'era… una ragazza. Sola. E poi… Non sono sicura di cosa ho visto. Ma non era… giusto." **Hunter:** "Look, I'm sorry, I really need to run. This is important. It was… something. I'll try and find someone who can translate later. Stay safe, okay?"