Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8FDYR62B6ZKP0AS2KT0NG

**Voice Sheet: "Cafe Conversation in Alborn"** *Isabella sits at a wooden table in The Rusty Apple Café, sunlight slanting through dusty windows. Her camera, a vintage Rolleiflex, rests open on the table, its viewfinder still to her eye—she’s been staring at a photo of a shadowy figure in the woods. A bell jingles as Hunter, a broad-shouldered man in a皱巴巴的 flannel shirt, approaches. He cocks his head, glancing at her camera, then leans in.* **Hunter:** (gruff, cautious) “Miss? Excuse me—you speak English? We got locals here who might know more than me about… stuff.” *Isabella startles, her hand fluttering to her chest. She fumbles with the camera strap, eyes wide. When she speaks, her voice is tight, fragmented, Italian.* **Isabella:** *“Cosa c’è successo? Ieri sera ho… veduto qualcosa.”* (What’s happened? Last night I… saw something.) *Hunter blinks, too slow to catch the words. He gestures to his ear, half-smiling.* **Hunter:** “Sorry—didn’t catch that. You’re upset. You need coffee? I can get you… whatever.” *He pauses, softer.* “Most folks in Alborn don’t get visitors. Especially not… *this* time of year.” *Isabella’s lips tremble. She speaks faster, more urgent, pointing at her camera. The photo slides out—*a man in a hood, standing at the edge of the apple orchard, back turned. **Isabella:** *“Questo uomo. Il giorno prima di Maria scomparsa, l’ho fotografato. Diceva… *‘Trovati’*.”* (This man. The day before Maria disappeared, I took his photo. He said… *‘Found’*.) *Hunter’s smile fades. He leans in, scanning the photo. “Maria” is a name he recognizes—one of the missing. But he still doesn’t understand the Italian. He rubs the back of his neck, frustrated.* **Hunter:** “Maria’s… one of the missing. You… you know her? This man—what’d he look like? Build? Color of hair?” *Isabella shakes her head, hand over her mouth. She leans forward, eyes frantic, and slams a fist on the table.* **Isabella:** *“Domani. Domani tornerà.”* (Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’ll come back.) *Hunter’s gut knots. He pulls out a notepad, scribbling. “Giovanni?” he mumbles, guessing the name from the Italian. Isabella stops, staring—*he got the gist. **Isabella:** *“Sì. Il nome è Giovanni.”* (Yes. His name is Giovanni.) *Hunter nods, jotting more. “I’ll find him. You sure you’re okay? We can call the station—protect you.” *Isabella hesitates, then grabs her camera, tucking the photo back into its slot. She meets his gaze, and for a moment, he swears he sees gratitude. But it’s cut short—the ring of his phone.* **Hunter:** (grimacing, answering) “Alborn PD. Hunter. …What? Where? Okay. I’m on my way.” *He hangs up, shoving the notepad in his pocket.* “Sorry. Found a body. In the creek. One of the missing.” *He starts to walk away, pausing at the door. “Isabella—wait. If you see him again… *call me*. 555-1234.”* *Isabella nods, her face still pale. Hunter leaves, the bell jangling. Isabella takes a deep breath, opens her camera, and stares at Giovanni’s hooded figure. She mutters in Italian, soft but fierce.* **Isabella:** *“No. Tu non tornerai mai.”* (No. You’ll never come back.) *She closes the camera, tucks it under her arm, and stands. The café bell jingles again—but this time, it’s not a customer. It’s a shadow in the window.* --- This dialogue balances Isabella’s limited English (via Italian) and Hunter’s confusion, grounding the scene in their cultural divide while hinting at the town’s danger.