The gentle hum of the espresso machine at "The Daily Grind" was usually a comforting sound for Maria. Today, however, it did little to soothe the knot of anxiety in her stomach. She sat at a small, sun-drenched table by the window, her trusty camera resting beside a half-eaten croissant. The raw, vibrant images of the Alborn countryside she'd captured yesterday felt like a distant dream, overshadowed by the unsettling events of the past few days. She scrolled through her photos, her brow furrowed. A shadow fell over her table. Maria looked up, her eyes widening slightly. A tall man, exuding an aura of quiet authority, stood before her. He wore a practical jacket and his gaze was sharp, observant. He looked like he knew things, things the picturesque facade of Alborn, MN tried to hide. “Excuse me,” the man began, his voice a low rumble. “I’m Detective Hunter. I’m investigating some… unusual occurrences around town.” He gestured vaguely, his eyes scanning her camera. “Saw you out yesterday, taking pictures near the old mill. Did you happen to see anything out of the ordinary?” Maria’s heart gave a nervous flutter. The old mill. It was precisely the place she'd felt that chilling unease. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. She knew what she’d seen, or rather, what she’d *felt*. A strange stillness, a prickle of something wrong… “Sí,” Maria began, her voice trembling, the Spanish rolling out in a rush. “Sí, detective. Fui al molino ayer, por la tarde. El aire… era diferente. Muy… pesado. Como si algo no estuviera bien. Una sombra larga, donde no debería haberla. Y un silencio… un silencio que no era natural. Como si todo el bosque hubiera contenido la respiración. Me sentí… muy asustada. Tuve que irme.” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand, her hands fluttering in a gesture of unease. The images flashed in her mind – a ripple in the stagnant water of the pond that seemed too deliberate, the way the birds had fallen silent abruptly. Hunter stared at her, his expression a mixture of confusion and mild frustration. Her words, though spoken with evident distress, were completely unintelligible to him. He caught a few tones of anxiety, of urgency, but the meaning remained locked behind a linguistic barrier. He tried a different tack. “Right. Different. Okay,” he said slowly, nodding in a way that suggested he was trying to grasp something just beyond his reach. He pointed to his ear, then made a circling motion near his temple, miming bewilderment. “You… felt something was wrong?” Maria nodded vigorously, relieved he seemed to be picking up on her distress, even if the specifics were lost. “Sí, sí! Mal. Muy mal.” She pointed to her camera, then made a frantic gesture as if trying to capture a fleeting image. “La luz… y las sombras… no eran normales. Y… y luego… escuché algo. Un susurro. Muy bajo.” She shivered, hugging herself. Hunter watched her, his detective instincts working overtime. He could see she was genuinely shaken. The unease in her eyes was palpable. He wished he had a translator, or at least a rudimentary phrasebook. He tried to simplify. “Whisper? You heard a whisper?” He tried to mimic the sound with a soft, drawn-out ‘ssssssss’. Maria’s eyes lit up with a flicker of recognition. “Sí! Un susurro. En los árboles. Pero no había nadie.” She paused, a fresh wave of fear washing over her as she remembered the profound absence of any visible source. “Fue… aterrador.” Suddenly, a sharp buzz fractured the air. Hunter fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his phone. His expression shifted, the lines around his eyes deepening with a familiar sense of duty. He glanced back at Maria, a hint of apology in his gaze. “Look, I’m sorry, I have to go. Something’s come up.” He offered a curt nod. “If you remember anything else, or if you can… draw it, maybe?” He gestured vaguely, unsure how to bridge the gap. With a final, probing look at the troubled young woman, he turned and strode purposefully out of the cafe, leaving Maria alone with her unease and the silent click of her camera.