*** **INT. "THE SWEET SEED" CAFE - DAY** The cafe smells of cinnamon and coffee. MELANIE sits alone at a small table by the window, her camera held close. She stares at the digital screen, her thumb hovering over the playback button. Her brow is furrowed in concentration and distress. HUNTER enters, scanning the room. His eyes land on Melanie and her camera. He walks over, his boots making a soft, purposeful sound on the linoleum floor. He stops at her table. Hunter: "Excuse me, ma'am? Mind if I have a word?" Melanie looks up, startled. She clutches her camera tighter. Hunter: "I'm Detective Hunter, Alborn Police. I'm asking everyone who was out near Peterson's Orchards on Saturday. You were there, weren't you? With that camera." Melanie’s eyes widen in fear. She shakes her head, looking down at her camera as if it's both a shield and an accusation. Melanie: "Nein... ich verstehe nicht. Was wollen Sie von mir?" Hunter: "I'm sorry? What language is that? German? Look, I just need to know if you saw anything unusual. A car, maybe? Someone who didn't belong there." Melanie: "Bitte lassen Sie mich in Ruhe. Ich habe nichts gesehen. Gar nichts." Hunter sighs, running a hand over his short-cropped hair. He points to himself. Hunter: "Hunter. Police." He points to the badge on his belt. "Police." Melanie flinches at the word "Police," her gaze darting toward the door as if considering escape. Hunter: "Okay, easy. Just... the camera." He gestures towards the device in her hands. "Photos. Saturday. Orchards." He says the words slowly, like a tourist trying to ask for directions. Melanie: "Mein Kamera? Das ist privat! Sie haben kein Recht!" Hunter holds up his hands in a gesture of peace. He pulls out a small notepad and a pen. He draws a rough sketch of a camera, then a tree, then a question mark. He slides it across the table. Melanie looks from the drawing to his patient, expectant face. Her defensive posture slumps slightly. She looks trapped. With a trembling hand, she powers on her camera and turns the screen towards him. Hunter leans in, peering at the image. It's a landscape shot of the orchard at dusk, beautiful and serene. Hunter: "Yeah, it's real pretty. But I need to see..." He trails off as she swipes to the next photo. This one is slightly blurry, taken in a hurry. In the shadowy edge of the frame, between two rows of apple trees, a figure can be seen. It's indistinct, but clearly there's a struggle. A second figure is being pulled away. Hunter's expression hardens. He points to the shadowy shapes. Hunter: "Who is that? What happened here? Did you see this?" Melanie’s breath hitches. She looks at the photo, then at Hunter, her eyes filled with terror. Melanie: "Ich... ich habe es gesehen. Er hat sie gepackt. Sie hat sich gewehrt, aber er war zu stark. Ich habe mich versteckt. Ich hatte so viel Angst." Hunter: "Dammit. I can't understand a word you're saying." He pulls out his phone. "I need to get a translator down here. Don't go anywhere. You understand? Don't. Go." Just as he says it, his phone rings, a sharp, insistent tone. He glares at the screen, then answers it. Hunter: "Hunter. ... What? Where? ... I'm on my way." He hangs up, shoving the phone back in his pocket. He looks at Melanie, frustration warring with urgency on his face. He pulls a business card from his wallet and slaps it on the table. He points to it, then to her, then makes a telephone gesture with his hand. Hunter: "You. Call. Me. Understand? Call me. I'll be back." He turns and strides out of the cafe, leaving Melanie staring at the business card, her camera now a vessel for a terrible secret.