Here is the scene, followed by the voice sheet: The clatter of ceramic against saucer was a soothing rhythm to Isabella. She clicked through the images on her camera's LCD screen, the crisp autumn light of Alborn, Minnesota, captured in vibrant detail. The rolling hills, the fiery maples lining Main Street, even the slightly unsettling quiet of the town square – it all felt so new, so *alive* from behind her lens. She was so engrossed, she barely registered the shadow falling over her small table at "The Daily Grind," a cafe that smelled faintly of roasted beans and cinnamon. A gruff voice, speaking a language she didn't understand, pulled her attention away from her photographs. She looked up to see a tall man, his jaw set and his eyes a piercing blue. He was dressed in practical, dark clothing, and an air of quiet authority radiated from him. He gestured vaguely towards the street, then tapped his chest. "Excuse me," he began, his voice carrying a distinct Midwest twang. "Did you happen to see anything… unusual last night? Around the, uh, the old mill?" Isabella blinked, her brow furrowing. His words were a jumble of unfamiliar sounds. She clutched her camera a little tighter, a knot of unease forming in her stomach. The previous evening’s events, which she’d tried to push to the back of her mind, now resurfaced with a chilling clarity. "I… I don't understand," Isabella stammered, her voice barely a whisper. She instinctively switched to her native tongue, the familiar syllables offering a sliver of comfort. "Non ho visto niente di strano. Voglio dire… *ho visto* qualcosa. Qualcosa di terribile." Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the camera's strap. "Quell'odore… era orribile. E poi… quel suono. Come un urlo soffocato." Her eyes widened, recalling the fleeting, horrifying image she’d snatched with her camera, too stunned to capture it clearly. "Non riesco a togliermi dalla testa quello che ho visto, quello che pensavo di aver sentito." Hunter stared at her, his expression a perfect blank. He’d caught none of the words, only the palpable distress radiating from the young woman. He’d asked about the old mill, a place rumored to be a focal point of the recent disappearances, and she was clearly agitated. But her rapid-fire Italian was a complete mystery to him. He felt the familiar sting of frustration. He’d dealt with language barriers before, mostly with immigrants, but this was different. He’d expected a witness, not a riddle. "Right," Hunter said, his voice carefully neutral, though a hint of impatience leaked through. "So, you saw… something. Or heard something. Around the mill." He made a vague circling motion with his hand. "Can you describe it? In English?" Isabella shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "Mi dispiace, non parlo inglese. Non capisco." She pointed to her camera. "Ho solo… ho solo scattato delle foto senza pensare, ero spaventata." She desperately wanted to explain, to convey the terror that had gripped her, but the chasm of language felt impossibly wide. Hunter sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was getting nowhere. He pulled out his phone, its screen a stark contrast to the warm, rustic setting of the cafe. His expression shifted, his gaze hardening as he glanced at the incoming call. Duty, it seemed, called. "Look," Hunter said, his voice abrupt now. "I gotta go. But if you can find *anyone* who speaks English, tell them Detective Miller is looking for information about the old mill. You understand?" He held her gaze for a moment, trying to imprint her face, her distress, in his mind. Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and strode out of the cafe, the bell above the door jingling its farewell. Isabella watched him go, her heart still pounding, alone with her camera and the chilling echoes of the night before. *** **Voice Sheet:** Isabella: "Non ho visto niente di strano. Voglio dire… *ho visto* qualcosa. Qualcosa di terribile. Quell'odore… era orribile. E poi… quel suono. Come un urlo soffocato. Non riesco a togliermi dalla testa quello che ho visto, quello che pensavo di aver sentito." Hunter: "Excuse me. Did you happen to see anything… unusual last night? Around the, uh, the old mill?" Isabella: "I… I don't understand. Non parlo inglese. Non capisco. Ho solo… ho solo scattato delle foto senza pensare, ero spaventata." Hunter: "Right. So, you saw… something. Or heard something. Around the mill. Can you describe it? In English?" Hunter: "Look. I gotta go. But if you can find *anyone* who speaks English, tell them Detective Miller is looking for information about the old mill. You understand?"