Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8D3AXXMY8S59HN3AKA6JY

**Voice Sheet:** Isabella: *She looks up from her camera, her expression tight with distress. She speaks in rapid, trembling Italian, eyes darting as if afraid of being heard.* "Ho sentito... di quell'evento. Quelle scomparse? Una mia amica... è sparita. Siete state a cercarla? Perché non la trovate?" *Her voice cracks; she clutches the camera, knuckles white, and turns a photo on the screen toward him—of a smiling woman with dark hair, probably her friend.* Hunter: *He leans in, frowning, hoping the urgency in her face bridges the language gap. He speaks slowly, carefully, in accented English.* "Wait—'disappearances'? I’m Hunter. I’m the detective looking into that. What friend? Tell me her name. When’d she go missing?" *He gestures to the photo, brow furrowed. When she doesn’t respond, he tries again, softer:* "You don’t understand me? I’m sorry. I—" Isabella: *She blinks rapidly, hand flying to her mouth. She repeats herself in Italian, more frantic now, tears spilling.* "Non capisco niente dell'inglese! Mi fa male... troppo. Dov'è lei? Niente neanche un segno? Madonna, come posso dirti tutto?" *She presses the camera into his hands, showing a photo of the town square—where her friend was last seen, after the apple festival.* Hunter: *He studies the photo, then the woman’s face. He sets it down, voice low, firm with purpose.* "This is Lila, right? She was last seen walking home from the square, three days ago. A man followed her—big, dark hair, leather jacket? You saw him?" *He jots notes on a pad, heart racing—Lila’s description fits the witness reports. When she nods, he looks up, intense:* "You’re sure? Describe him again. What’d he say?" Isabella: *She chokes out a sob, pointing at the photo.* "Sì... l'ho visto. Dietro a lei. All' albergo. Aveva un tasco nero. Mi ha guardato come..." *She trails off, shivering. Her Italian slows, almost whispered now:* "Mi ha paura." Hunter: *His phone buzzes—his partner, shouting about a fourth missing person. He silences it, jaw tight. He meets her eyes, softening briefly.* "I need you to write down *everything*—where you saw him, what he wore, what he did. Can you do that? I’ll get someone to translate. We’ll find her, I promise." *He checks the time, swearing under his breath. He hands her a pen, pausing at the door:* "Stay here. I’ll send someone. And—" *He hesitates, then adds, quieter:* "Thank you for talking to me." Isabella: *She takes the pen, her hands steadying as she focuses on the page. She writes quickly, in neat Italian, then slides the paper toward him. Her eyes are wet but determined.* "Grazie. Per favore... non lasciare che lei ..." *She trails off, but her meaning is clear. Hunter: *He reads the words roughly (not enough to understand fully, but the urgency registers). He tucks the paper into his pocket, nods, and strides out, boots thudding. Over his shoulder:* "I won’t. I swear." The dialogue reflects Isabella’s distress and language barrier, Hunter’s no-nonsense detective manner, and their strained connection—ultimately setting up the mystery while grounding the interaction in emotion.