Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8N8WEF8C797YM5B908JVR

**Title: *The Missing in Alborn*** --- **Scene: *The Café by the Clock Tower*** The morning sun spilled through the stained-glass windows of *La Dolce Vita*, a quaint café tucked between the old post office and the bakery that sold the town’s famous *panzerotti*. Isabella sat at a corner table, her camera resting on the table in front of her, the lens cap off as she studied the composition of a nearby oak tree. The leaves rustled softly in the breeze, and the scent of espresso and fresh pastries filled the air. She didn’t hear the door open behind her at first—just the quiet hum of conversation from the other patrons. Then, a man in a worn leather jacket stepped inside, his boots scuffing against the linoleum. He didn’t smile, but his eyes locked onto hers. **Hunter:** *(approaching, voice low and deliberate)* "Miss…?" Isabella froze. She hadn’t heard him coming. Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag. She didn’t know English, but she knew the way his jaw clenched when he was thinking. She turned slowly, her camera still poised. The lens caught the reflection of the café’s neon sign—*Caffè*—as she met his gaze. **Isabella:** *(softly, in Italian)* "Dov’è il bagno?" *(Where’s the bathroom?)* Hunter blinked. *Bathroom?* He didn’t understand. But the way she said it—like she was afraid—made his stomach twist. He gestured toward the back. "Right there." She nodded, already moving, but not before she caught the flicker of something in his eyes. Something sharp. --- The bathroom was small, with peeling wallpaper and a single mirror over the sink. Isabella stood there, her breath shallow, her hands trembling slightly. She didn’t look at him as she spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. **Isabella:** *(voice breaking)* "Lui… lui è andato via. *Lui* ha portato via *quel ragazzo*." *(He… he left. He took *that boy*.)* Hunter’s blood ran cold. He didn’t know Italian, but the words hung in the air like a curse. He didn’t need to understand to know she was talking about *him*. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Then, the café door creaked open behind him. A woman in a floral dress stepped in, carrying a tray of pastries. She smiled at Isabella, who waved her away. **Hunter:** *(quiet, to Isabella)* "Miss, I need you to come with me." She didn’t look at him. Just stared at the floor. **Isabella:** *(firm, but still in Italian)* "No. No, no, no." *(No. No. No.)* He reached for her arm, but she jerked back. **Hunter:** *(growling)* "Isabella—" The phone rang in his pocket. He didn’t answer it. Didn’t look at her. **Hunter:** *(into the phone, voice tight)* "Yeah. Yeah, I’m on my way. *Now.*" He hung up. Turned to Isabella. **Hunter:** *(voice rough)* "Come on. Now." She didn’t move. **Isabella:** *(whispering, terrified)* "Hunter… *non andare via.*" *(Hunter… don’t leave.)* He grabbed her wrist, his grip iron. She didn’t scream. She just stared at him, her eyes wide, her breath coming fast. **Hunter:** *(low, dangerous)* "Alborn doesn’t need another ghost story." She didn’t understand, but she knew what he meant. And for the first time, she believed him. --- *(To be continued…)*