The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon sugar hung heavy in the air of "The Daily Grind," Alborn's sole cafe. Sunlight, dappled with the shadows of autumn leaves, streamed through the wide storefront window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the quiet space. Marie, a splash of vibrant color in her French knit sweater, sat at a small table by the window, her vintage camera resting on the worn surface. Her brow was furrowed, her fingers tracing the cool metal of the lens as she scrolled through images on the small screen. Each click of the shutter, each captured vista of Alborn's crisp autumn landscapes, was a small comfort, a reminder of the beauty that still existed even amidst the unsettling whispers that had begun to weave through the small town. The bell above the door chimed, a sharp, intrusive sound that startled Marie. She looked up, her hand instinctively tightening on her camera. A man, broad-shouldered and exuding an aura of quiet authority, stepped inside. His gaze swept the room, his eyes, the color of a clear prairie sky, eventually landing on her. He approached with an economy of movement, his boots making a soft thud on the wooden floor. Detective Hunter, as the locals had come to know him, was a man who didn't waste words, and the lines etched around his eyes suggested he’d seen too much to be easily fooled. He stopped at her table, his expression neutral but his gaze sharp. "Excuse me," he began, his voice a low rumble that cut through the cafe's gentle hum. "I understand you were out near the old mill yesterday afternoon, taking pictures?" Marie blinked, her mind still a jumble of fragmented images and a gnawing unease from something she'd witnessed. She fumbled for her camera, her French accent thick as she responded, her words spilling out in a torrent of distress. " Oh, *Monsieur*," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "*C'était… c'était absolument terrifiant. J'étais là, à essayer d'attraper la lumière sur l'eau, et puis… j'ai entendu un cri. Un cri si… déchirant. Et je l'ai vu. Quelqu'un… tirant quelque chose dans le fossé. Une ombre sombre, se déplaçant si vite. J'ai juste… j'ai pris quelques photos et je me suis enfuie. Mon cœur battait comme un tambour fou.*" Hunter’s brow furrowed in return, his expression immediately shifting from professional inquiry to utter bewilderment. The rapid-fire French was a foreign language, a wall of undecipherable sound. He caught a few words, perhaps a tone of fear, but the substance of her distress remained locked away. He held up a hand, a gesture of gentle interruption. "Whoa, slow down. I… I don't understand French. Can you… can you speak English?" Marie hesitated, her eyes widening as she realized the communication barrier. She tried again, slowing her pace, resorting to simpler gestures. "*Je… je ne parle pas anglais*," she managed, her voice a little more subdued, laced with frustration. Hunter’s lips twitched, not unkindly. He tried a different tack. "Okay. You were at the mill? Yesterday?" He pointed vaguely in the direction of the town's outskirts. Marie nodded enthusiastically, relieved he understood at least that much. "*Oui, oui! Le vieux moulin!*" "Did you see anything?" Hunter pressed, his gaze intent. "Anything… unusual?" Marie’s eyes clouded over with renewed fear. She gestured frantically with her hands, trying to convey the speed, the darkness, the sense of violation. "*Une ombre! Une grande ombre! Et un bruit terrible… comme un animal écrasé, mais… plus humain. Je ne pouvais pas bien voir, mais c'était effrayant. Très effrayant.*" She clutched her camera tighter, as if it held the only evidence of the horror. Hunter watched her, trying to piece together what he could from her dramatic gestures and the few words he recognized as meaning "shadow" and "scary." It was clearly more than just a scare, though. The distress was profound. He was about to try another approach, perhaps asking her to draw, when his phone buzzed, a jarring interruption. He pulled it out, his expression immediately hardening as he glanced at the caller ID. "Look," he said, speaking directly to Marie, his voice tinged with newfound urgency. "I have to go. Something's come up. But I'll be back. We’ll… we'll figure this out." He gave her a brief, tight nod, a silent promise of return, before turning and striding out of the cafe, the bell above the door chiming his departure, leaving Marie alone with her incomprehensible terror and her camera. --- **VOICE SHEET:** **Marie:** "Oh, Monsieur, C'était… c'était absolument terrifiant. J'étais là, à essayer d'attraper la lumière sur l'eau, et puis… j'ai entendu un cri. Un cri si… déchirant. Et je l'ai vu. Quelqu'un… tirant quelque chose dans le fossé. Une ombre sombre, se déplaçant si vite. J'ai juste… j'ai pris quelques photos et je me suis enfuie. Mon cœur battait comme un tambour fou." **Hunter:** "Excuse me. I understand you were out near the old mill yesterday afternoon, taking pictures?" **Marie:** "Je… je ne parle pas anglais." **Hunter:** "Okay. You were at the mill? Yesterday? Did you see anything? Anything… unusual?" **Marie:** "Oui, oui! Le vieux moulin! Une ombre! Une grande ombre! Et un bruit terrible… comme un animal écrasé, mais… plus humain. Je ne pouvais pas bien voir, mais c'était effrayant. Très effrayant." **Hunter:** "Look. I have to go. Something's come up. But I'll be back. We'll… we'll figure this out."