Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY8TC8VWRZJ47W1FQ4XWS3H

**Scene: Alborn Diner, Early Afternoon** *(Marie sits by the window, camera propped open on the table, her finger brushing the lens. Steam curls from her coffee cup. The bell above the door jingles.)* **Hunter:** *(striding over, hands in jacket pockets, posture tense)* Excuse me—miss, you’re the new study abroad student, right? Marie? From France. I’m Detective Hunter. MN PD. Got a few questions about… well, about the town lately. Some folks’ve gone missing. You been here long enough to notice anything out of the ordinary? *(Marie looks up, the smile fading. Her fingers tighten around her camera strap. She opens her mouth, then shakes her head, speaking fast in French, voice trembling.)* **Marie:** *"Je—je ne comprends pas. Parlez-vous français? Je ne sais pas d’anglais. Votre accent—je ne suis pas certaine."* *(Hunter pauses, brow furrowed. He scans her face, then looks at the camera, then back at her.)* **Hunter:** Oh. Uh. Right. Sorry. Didn’t realize. *(He rubs the back of his neck, voice softer.)* Listen, it’s okay. Let’s try another way. What’s… what got you so shook up? You look like you’ve seen something. *(Marie fumbles with her camera, flipping to a photo she’d taken the night before—a shadowy figure pacing outside her rental house. She turns it toward him, pointing.)* **Marie:** *"Là. Devant chez moi. Il y a trois jours. Un homme. Il regardait. Il a eu un manteau noir. Un chapeau bas."* *(Hunter leans in, squinting at the blurry photo. He meets her eyes, confused.)* **Hunter:** A man? You didn’t see his face? I need to know if he matches the descriptions we have. The missing folk—they were all out after dark, right? *(Marie nods, more vigorously, pressing the photo closer. Her French quickens, urgent.)* **Marie:** *"Très tard. Il ahoo. Il ahoo comme un kit. Describes. Il a parlé? Non. Il a observation."* *(Hunter blinks, completely lost. He gestures to her camera, then back to her.)* **Hunter:** Look, I’m sorry. I wish I could help, but I don’t speak French. Maybe… maybe you can write down what you saw? Or—*(He fumbles for his phone, pulling up a translation app, typing in French.)* Wait, *"Qu’est-ce que vous savez?"* *What do you know?* *(Marie’s shoulders slump. She takes the phone, types slowly: *"Le manteau. Noir. Vieux. Il a un col roulé. J’ai peur."* *(The coat. Black. Old. Collar rolled up. I’m scared.)* She hands it back, eyes shiny. *(Hunter sighs, softening. He tucks the phone away.)* **Hunter:** Okay. I’ll look into it. Thanks. *(He pauses, then adds.)* You sure you’re okay here? Maybe you should let someone know you’re going out at night. *(Marie nods, forcing a small smile. She picks up her camera, staring at her photo. A loud ringtone cuts through the diner. Hunter’s phone buzzes in his pocket.)* **Hunter:** *(pulling it out, scowling)* Shit. That’s dispatch. *(He glances at his watch.)* I gotta go—they found a lead. *(He nods at her.)* We’ll talk again. If you remember anything else, call the station. My number’s on the menu. *(Marie nods, her gaze returning to her camera. Hunter turns, heading for the door, but pauses, over his shoulder.)* **Hunter:** *(softer, awkwardly)* Uh. Thank you. For trying. *( Marie gives a tiny, imperceptible nod. The bell jingles again. She stares at her photo, then at the door, her fingers tracing the edge of the camera.)* *[Fade out as Hunter’s footsteps recede. Marie’s camera shutter clicks once—unintentional, in the silence.]* --- The dialogue balances cultural misunderstanding with rising tension, using French to convey Marie’s vulnerability while keeping Hunter’s confusion authentic. Their "talk" is rooted in gestures and the photo, bridging the language gap before his urgent departure.