## Scene: The Alborn Cafe's Quiet Corner The scent of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon sugar hung heavy in the air of "The Daily Grind," Alborn's only cafe. Sunlight streamed through the large front windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Marie, her brow furrowed in concentration, sat at a small, slightly wobbly table by the back wall. Her large, professional-looking camera, a familiar extension of herself, was laid out beside her, all its lenses and accessories meticulously arranged. She was scrolling through recent photos, a slight tremor in her hands. The idyllic charm of Alborn that she’d been capturing for her studies felt suddenly… distant, tainted. A shadow fell across her table. Marie looked up, a flicker of apprehension in her wide, blue eyes. Standing before her was a man as solid and unyielding as the Minnesota earth. He was dressed in practical, albeit rumpled, clothes, and his gaze was sharp, assessing. Detective Hunter. He’d been asking around town, she knew. His presence, usually a quiet observation in the background, now felt like an intrusion. Hunter cleared his throat, his voice a low rumble, devoid of any pleasantries. "Miss… those photos you've been taking. Did you happen to be out near the old logging trail yesterday afternoon?" Marie blinked, her English slipping away like water through cupped hands the moment she felt a prickle of unease. The question, coupled with the grim set of his jaw, amplified her distress. She fumbled for a moment, her fingers tracing the cool metal of her camera lens. "Detective," she began, her voice a soft whisper in French. "Hier après-midi… c'était… terrible. Absolument terrible." She shook her head, her gaze dropping back to her camera, as if seeking solace in its familiar weight. "J'ai entendu… des bruits. Comme des cris. Et puis… rien. Juste le silence d'après." Her voice caught, a knot forming in her throat. "Et une trace… une grosse trace boueuse, qui s'enfonçait dans les bois. Pas une chaussure, non. Quelque chose… d'autre." A shiver ran down her spine. "Je ne comprends pas ce qui s'est passé. C'était effrayant." She looked up at him, her eyes pleading for understanding, but all she saw was a wall of bewilderment. Hunter stared back, his expression frozen in a mask of confusion. He’d expected a nod, a shake of the head, maybe even some broken English. Not… this Gallic cascade of distress and what sounded like dramatic pronouncements. His brow furrowed deeper. "Crips? Trace? What are you talking about, lady? What language is that?" He ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. "Look, I need to know if you saw anything unusual. Anything at all." Marie tried again, her frustration mirroring his. "Je vous dis, j'ai entendu des cris. Et vu une trace étrange. Dans la forêt." She gestured vaguely towards the window, as if the offending trail was just beyond the bustling cafe. "C'était…terrifiant. Et maintenant il y a du silence." She was making little progress, she could tell. His vacant stare was a testament to that. Hunter let out a sigh, a sound of pure exasperation. "Kid, I don't understand a word you're saying. Are you saying you *saw* something?" He tried a different tack, lowering his voice slightly. "Did you witness an accident? Or… anything suspicious?" Marie could see he wasn't getting it. Her French was evidently as impenetrable to him as his English was to her. She felt a swell of helplessness. She wanted to tell him, to *explain*, but the bridge of language was simply not there. She just nodded, a small, defeated gesture. "Oui. Suspicieux. Très." Just then, Hunter's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his eyes briefly scanning the screen. The grim set of his jaw returned, now tinged with urgency. "Damn it." He stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. "Look, I gotta go. Something's come up. If you remember anything, or if you can… you know, communicate it somehow, find me at the station." He didn't wait for a response, already turning and heading for the door, the scent of his determination trailing after him. Marie watched him go, a solitary figure in the cafe, her camera still open on the table. The chilling disquiet inside her remained, a silent testament to the unexplained terrors lurking just beyond Alborn's picturesque facade, and the frustrating chasm of words that separated her from the man trying to uncover the truth. *** ## Voice Sheet: **Marie:** "Hier après-midi… c'était… terrible. Absolument terrible. J'ai entendu… des bruits. Comme des cris. Et puis… rien. Juste le silence d'après. Et une trace… une grosse trace boueuse, qui s'enfonçait dans les bois. Pas une chaussure, non. Quelque chose… d'autre. Je ne comprends pas ce qui s'est passé. C'était effrayant." **Hunter:** "Miss… those photos you've been taking. Did you happen to be out near the old logging trail yesterday afternoon?" **Marie:** "Je vous dis, j'ai entendu des cris. Et vu une trace étrange. Dans la forêt. C'était…terrifiant. Et maintenant il y a du silence." **Hunter:** "Crips? Trace? What are you talking about, lady? What language is that? Look, I need to know if you saw anything unusual. Anything at all." **Marie:** "Oui. Suspicieux. Très." **Hunter:** "Damn it. Look, I gotta go. Something's come up. If you remember anything, or if you can… you know, communicate it somehow, find me at the station."