Run: 2026-02-20-01KHXPQV2TRE4ERJ6204E3AAF0

**Voice Sheet: Café Encounter in Alborn, MN** *(Marie sits at a small wrought-iron table outside the café, her camera resting in her lap. She flips through the photos she’s taken, her brow furrowed. The morning light catches the lens as she adjusts it absently. Hunter approaches, his boots scuffing against the sidewalk. He’s in plain clothes—dark jeans, a flannel shirt rolled to the elbows—but his posture is all business.)* **Hunter:** *(clears throat, standing just outside her personal space)* Excuse me, miss. You’re Marie, right? The French student? **Marie:** *(startled, looks up, clutching her camera tighter)* Oui…? *(Her voice is soft, but her grip on the camera betrays her nerves. She glances around, as if expecting someone else.)* **Hunter:** *(nods, pulling out a small notepad—old habit)* I’m Detective Hunter Cole. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about the other night. At the apple orchard? **Marie:** *(eyes widen, her breath hitches. She shakes her head quickly, words tumbling out in rapid French)* Je ne sais pas ce que vous voulez dire! Je n’ai rien vu, je le jure! *(She presses a hand to her chest, as if to steady herself.)* C’était horrible… les cris… et puis plus rien. *(Her voice cracks, and she looks away, blinking fast.)* **Hunter:** *(frowns, holding up a hand like he can physically slow her down)* Whoa, whoa—hold on. I don’t… *(scratches his jaw, frustrated)* Look, I don’t speak French. At all. Can we do this in English? **Marie:** *(shakes her head, switching to heavily accented, broken English)* I—I no understand. *(She gestures helplessly at her mouth, then at him.)* Parlez-vous… no. *(She exhales sharply, then tries again, slower.)* I was taking pictures. Of the trees. The sunset. *(She flips her camera screen toward him, showing a photo of the orchard bathed in golden light.)* Then… *(she swallows hard, points vaguely toward the edge of town)* …the noise. Like an animal. But not. **Hunter:** *(leans in slightly, studying the photo. His voice drops, serious.)* You heard something? Saw something? **Marie:** *(nods, then shakes her head, frustrated with the language barrier. She mimes something large moving quickly, then covers her mouth, eyes darting around like she’s reliving it.)* Vite! Très vite! *(She grabs his wrist, then freezes, realizing what she’s done. She lets go quickly, murmuring an apology.)* Désolée… **Hunter:** *(doesn’t react to the touch, but his expression softens slightly. He pulls a pen from his pocket and scribbles on a napkin.)* Here. Write it down. In French. I’ll get it translated. **Marie:** *(takes the pen with shaky hands, scribbling a few sentences. She pushes the napkin back toward him, then adds, in careful English)* The man… he was running. But not like a person. Like… *(she searches for the word, then mimics a limp, dragging one leg.)* Like this. **Hunter:** *(stares at the napkin, then at her. His phone buzzes in his pocket. He ignores it at first, then sighs, pulling it out. His jaw tightens as he reads the screen.)* Damn it. *(He pockets the phone, then the napkin, meeting her eyes.)* Listen, I gotta go. But I’ll be back. Don’t—*(he hesitates, then points at her camera)*—don’t delete those photos, okay? And stay where people can see you. **Marie:** *(nods quickly, then blurts out in French)* Attendez! *(She grabs a fresh napkin and writes down her number, sliding it toward him.)* S’il vous plaît… soyez prudent. **Hunter:** *(takes the napkin, tucking it into his pocket without looking at it. He gives her a curt nod.)* Lock your doors tonight. *(He turns and strides away, his long legs eating up the sidewalk. Marie watches him go, then looks down at her camera, her thumb hovering over the delete button. After a long moment, she exhales and flips to the next photo instead.)*