Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7KXEGZKZSJS315KWF9DTK

**Title: *Shadows in Alborn*** --- **Scene: *The Morning After*** *The sun spilled through the stained-glass windows of *Il Caffè del Borgo*, casting golden streaks across the wooden tables. Isabella sat at a corner booth, her camera resting on the table, the lens cap off. She adjusted the focus, her fingers brushing the warm metal. Outside, the town of Alborn hummed with the quiet rhythm of morning—birds chirping, the distant clatter of a bakery cart, the occasional murmur of shoppers.* *Then, footsteps. A man in a dark coat stepped into the café, his boots scuffing against the linoleum. Isabella’s breath hitched. She didn’t recognize him at first—just a stranger, but his eyes were sharp, his posture unmistakably *that*.* **Hunter:** *(approaching, voice low)* "You’re the one with the camera." *Isabella froze. She didn’t look up. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.* **Isabella:** *"...Mi dispiace. Non capisco."* *Hunter’s jaw tightened. He didn’t know Italian. Not even the basics. But the way she said it—hurt. Like she was trying to explain something she couldn’t.* **Hunter:** *"What’s wrong?"* *She didn’t answer. Just stared at the table, her knuckles white.* **Isabella:** *"...Qualcuno è sparito. Oggi."* *Silence. The café’s hum swelled around them. Hunter’s grip on his coffee cup tightened.* **Hunter:** *"Who?"* *She swallowed hard. Her voice was small, but her eyes burned.* **Isabella:** *"Non lo so. Ma ho visto le foto. Le foto di lui."* *Hunter’s pulse jumped. He’d heard the reports—disappearances, no signs, no bodies. But this? This was different. A woman, a student, *photographing* something.* **Hunter:** *"Who’s he?"* *Isabella hesitated. Then, slowly, she reached into her bag and pulled out a folded photo. She handed it to him.* *On the sheet was a man—tall, broad-shouldered, his face half-lit by the golden glow of a streetlamp. His hands were clenched in fists, his expression grim. Isabella had taken it last night, just after the café had closed.* **Isabella:** *"È il mio amico. Il mio amico è sparito."* *Hunter’s stomach twisted. He flipped the photo over. The back was blank. No name. No address. Just a single word, scrawled in jagged letters: *"Non mi lasciare."* *He exhaled sharply. "Where’d you take this?"* **Isabella:** *"Nel parco. Dopo la festa degli aranci."* *The apple festival. The town’s pride. But something was off. The air was thick with tension.* **Hunter:** *"You’re sure this is the guy?"* *Isabella nodded, her voice barely above a whisper.* **Isabella:** *"Sì. È lui. È lui che ha sparito la gente."* *Hunter’s mind raced. He’d been here for days, piecing together the disappearances, but this? This was personal. And Isabella—she wasn’t just a stranger. She was a witness. A photographer. Someone who might know more than she let on.* *Then, a sharp ringtone cut through the café. Hunter’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his expression grim.* **Hunter:** *"Shit. I gotta go. But I’ll be back. You’ll tell me everything?"* *Isabella nodded, her eyes wide with fear.* **Isabella:** *"Prometti."* *He pocketed his phone, his jaw set. "I promise."* *As he turned to leave, Isabella watched him go, her camera still in her hands. The photo was still in his grip. And for the first time, she wondered—what had she just seen?* --- **End Scene.**