Run: 2026-02-17-01KHNEXDXJJ6SVRB9AXF91KRRS

**Scene: The Daily Grind Cafe, Alborn, MN - Afternoon** Isabella sits at a corner table, her vintage camera resting on the white tablecloth. She flips through the photos on its display screen, her brow furrowed with concern. The morning's photos show the old covered bridge on Miller Creek — the one everyone's been avoiding since Tommy Haskell disappeared three weeks ago. --- Hunter approaches the table, his eyes scanning the cafe before landing on the young woman with the camera. He pulls out the chair across from her. "Excuse me," he says, his voice gruff but not unkind. "I couldn't help but notice you've been taking pictures around town." Isabella looks up, her dark eyes widening. She responds in rapid Italian, her hands gesturing animatedly. "Si, ho fotografato il ponte coperto oggi. È così bello, ma... c'è qualcosa di strano. La gente non vuole parlarne." Hunter blinks, his jaw tightening slightly. He scratches the back of his neck. "I'm sorry... I don't understand. Do you speak English?" Isabella tilts her head, a frown forming. She tries again, slower this time. "Io... non parlo inglese. Sono una studentessa. Studio qui per un semestre." Hunter runs a hand through his hair, exhaling. "Right. Okay. That's... that's fine." He pulls out his badge from his jacket pocket. "I'm Detective Hunter. I'm with the Alborn Police Department. I'm investigating some... recent events in town." Isabella's face pales. She speaks quickly, her voice trembling. "Dispari... capisco. Il ponte, il ponte coperto. Ho visto... cose. Cose strane." Hunter leans forward, frowning. "Things? What things? You saw something at the bridge?" Isabella nods frantically, her hands shaking as she turns the camera toward him. She points at the screen, at a photo of the bridge's shadowed interior. "L'ombra... c'era un'ombra che non era mia. E poi... e poi ho sentito qualcosa. Come un sussurro." Hunter stares at the photo, then at the woman. He has no idea what she's saying, but the fear in her voice is undeniable. He decides to try a different approach, keeping his tone calm. "Listen, I don't understand Italian. But I need you to know — I'm here to help. Whatever happened in this town... I'm going to figure it out." Isabella's eyes fill with tears. She reaches across the table and grips his hand. "La prego, detective. Aiutami. Ho paura." Hunter pats her hand awkwardly, his expression softening despite his confusion. "It's okay. You're safe. Just... maybe we should get you someone who can translate. Someone from the university?" She nods, wiping her eyes. "Sì... sì, per favore." Hunter stands, pulling out his phone. "Wait here. I'm going to make a call. We'll get this sorted out." He's just pressed the first button when his phone rings — his direct line. He answers, his face hardening. "Hunter here." A voice crackles through the speaker. "Detective, it's Dispatch. We got another one. Missing person — Sarah Chen, she was last seen near the old mill." Hunter's jaw clenches. "On my way." He hangs up and turns back to Isabella. "I have to go. Something's come up." He pulls a business card from his wallet and slides it across the table. "This has my number. Find someone who can translate, call me. It's important." Isabella looks at the card, then back at him. "Grazie... grazie, detective." Hunter nods once and heads for the door, his hand already reaching for his car keys. Isabella watches him go, her camera clutched tightly to her chest. Outside the window, the Minnesota sky has turned gray, and a cold wind sweeps through Main Street. She whispers to herself, barely audible: "Che sta succedendo in questo posto?" --- **[END SCENE]**