Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY7QV2FDSRWMBCSV9NP18HR

**Selvi**: (frowning at her camera, fingers brushing the lens; when Hunter approaches, she tenses slightly, then meets his gaze with a mix of unease and hope) **Hunter**: (polite, but direct, since disappearances are on his mind) Miss—Selvi, was it? I noticed you’ve been scrolling through those photos. Alborn’s got some nice spots, but… you look like you’ve seen somethin’ off. Ever notice anything weird lately? With the town, y’know? **Selvi**: (voice tight, unchanged) *Yehi*. Yehi sab. (This. This all.) (She gestures vaguely at the town square outside, then tugs a crumpled photo from her bag—a blurry shot of the old oak tree, branches bare except for a single red apple. Her hands shake.) **Hunter**: (leaning in, confused) ‘Yehi sab’? That… that sounds like Hindi. Do you speak Hindi? **Selvi**: (nods, teary) *Haan*. *Mujhe Hindi aati hai*. (Yes. I know Hindi.) She swallows, her voice rising with urgency. *"Kisi din se logo ne ghumaya hai. Baker ke beta, Avinash. Librarian ki biwi, Mrs. Hargrove. Ab… ab woh sab ghum gaye."* (For days people have gone missing. The baker’s son, Avinash. The librarian’s wife, Mrs. Hargrove. Now… now all of them are gone.) **Hunter**: (blinking, confused) Wait—Av—Avinash? Mrs. Hargrove? Yeah, I know ‘em. Kids still missing? (He pauses, realizing her distress isn’t about the festival.) Shit, you’re *worried* about them. Did you see somethin’? **Selvi**: (grabbing his arm, eyes wide) *Haan!* Ek aadmi. (Yes! A man. A *dark coat*. Black. *Uski awaz mein hardam*.) (Long, deep voice. I saw him—on the square, near the oak tree, *watching* them. But I couldn’t—) **Hunter**: (gentling prying her hand from his arm, not understanding) Hey, easy. You can’t say it in English? Let me help. You see him near the oak? When? **Selvi**: (frustrated, tears spilling) *Aaj subah*. (This morning.) *"Police ko bulaya maine, lekin inhone nahi mana."* (I called the police, but they wouldn’t listen.) **Hunter**: (frowning, voice hardening) They wouldn’t? That’s on ’em. Let me—(His shoulder buzzes; he checks his phone, then his radio.) Shit. Priority call. Got to go. **Selvi**: (panicked, grabbing his sleeve) *Nahi!* (No!) *Please.* (Please.) **Hunter**: (kneeling to meet her eyes, earnest) I promise, I won’t forget. You got your camera—any shots of the square today? The oak tree? (When she fumbles with the photo, he nods.) Perfect. That’ll help. I’m Detective Hunter. (He flashes his badge.) I’ll be back. In 20 minutes. Stay here. I swear. **Selvi**: (hesitant, but clutching the photo) *Haan*. (Yes.) **Hunter**: (standing, already backing away) And if you remember *anything else*—call me. (He scribbles a number on a napkin, presses it into her hand. His radio crackles again; he answers, voice harsh: "Hunter here…" then hurries out the door, coat flapping.) **Selvi**: (staring at the napkin, then at the photo, shoulders shaking) *Agar woh aata hai…* (If he comes… she whispers, to the empty air.) *Mujhe usse yakeen dena hoga*, (I have to make him believe.) (She tucks the photo back into her bag, still clutching the napkin—her only lifeline in this strange town.) *Notes for performance*: Selvi’s Hindi should sound rushed and trembling, with pauses for tears. Hunter’s delivery shifts from casual to urgent, his confusion clear through half-formed questions and gestures. The transition from his relaxed tone to the panicked "priority call" is sudden, grounding the scene in his detective work.