Run: 2026-02-20-01KHY957K8AG9K4CJS1C56S7D8

Isabella sat at an outdoor table of the cozy Corner Cafe in downtown Alborn, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the small Midwest town's main street. The air carried the faint scent of fresh apple cider from the ongoing preparations for the annual apple festival. Her camera rested in her lap as she scrolled through the landscape photos she'd taken earlier that day—rolling hills dotted with orchards, the kind of serene Midwestern beauty that had drawn her to this study abroad program. But her expression was far from peaceful; her brow furrowed as she paused on a blurry shot from the night before, near the festival grounds. A shadow fell across her table. Detective Hunter, in his crisp button-down shirt and jeans, approached with purposeful strides. His no-nonsense demeanor was evident in the set of his jaw as he pulled out a chair without asking. He'd been canvassing the town all day about the latest disappearance—a local shopkeeper who vanished after closing up late—and this young woman with the camera had caught his eye earlier, snapping photos near the edge of the woods. **Hunter:** "Excuse me, miss. I'm Detective Hunter with the Alborn Police Department. Mind if I ask you a few questions? We're looking into what happened last night at the festival setup area. Did you see anything out of the ordinary—a argument, someone lurking around, maybe even the missing guy, Tom Reilly?" Isabella looked up, startled, her dark eyes widening. She clutched her camera tighter, her face paling as fragmented memories surfaced: shadows in the trees, a muffled cry, the flash of something metallic. She shook her head slowly, her voice trembling as she responded in rapid Italian, her accent thick with distress. **Isabella:** "Ho visto... ho visto un uomo trascinato via! Era buio, vicino agli alberi del festival. Sembrava lottare, e c'era una macchina... non so, era terribile! Qualcuno deve aiutarlo!" Hunter blinked, leaning forward with a puzzled frown. Her words were a melodic rush to him, utterly incomprehensible. He rubbed the back of his neck, his marine-honed instincts kicking in to stay calm despite the frustration bubbling up. **Hunter:** "Uh... ma'am? I didn't catch that. Do you speak English? English? Qualcosa?" He tried the last word hopefully, mangling the Italian he'd half-remembered from some old war movie, but it only made him wince. Isabella tilted her head, confusion mirroring his own, though laced with growing anxiety. She gestured vaguely toward her camera, then mimed pulling someone by the arm, her free hand slicing through the air like a car speeding away. The words tumbled out again, faster now, as if urgency could bridge the gap. **Isabella:** "No, inglese no! Italiano solo. L'uomo... sparito! Trascinato nel bosco, forse rapito. La polizia? Aiuto, per favore!" Hunter nodded slowly, piecing together her gestures—woods, dragging, car. It aligned too neatly with the tire tracks they'd found that morning. He pulled out his notebook, sketching a quick diagram and pointing at it, then at her. "Woods? Dragged? Like this?" He mimed the motion back, earning a frantic nod from her. They went back and forth like that for several minutes—him repeating English phrases with exaggerated slowness, her responding in Italian with wild hand signals, pointing at her camera as if it held the proof. A few passersby glanced their way, but Alborn's small-town rhythm stayed unhurried. Just as Hunter was about to try calling for a translator, his phone buzzed sharply in his pocket. He fished it out, glancing at the screen before answering. **Hunter:** "Hunter here... Yeah? Another lead? Alright, I'm en route—five minutes out." He hung up, standing abruptly with an apologetic nod to Isabella. "Sorry, duty calls. But stick around town, okay? We'll need to talk again—maybe with someone who speaks your language." He flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile, though his mind was already racing toward the new tip. Isabella watched him go, her grip on the camera whitening her knuckles, the weight of what she'd seen pressing heavier in the quiet cafe air.