Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA2417294RG4WE8XMX3AE2

**Voice Sheet: Selvi & Hunter in Alborn Cafe** **Selvi**: (sitting at a chipped wooden table, elbows on the surface, finger tracing the edge of her camera. The cafe hums—clinking mugs, a radio playing folk music. She looks up as he approaches, eyes wide, thumbnail brushing a tear from her cheek. Her voice is soft, trembling, in *Hindi*: ) *"Dekha hai... kuch ghuspaith. Bhoot nahi... log. Woh... woh cheez..."* (I saw... something strange. Not a ghost... people. That... that thing.) **Hunter**: (35, worn leather jacket, a notebook bulging from his back pocket, sits slowly across from her. He angles his body to face her, hands resting on the table—lean, deliberate, like a man used to assessing situations. He notices the camera’s lens cap is off, a photo of a red barn with sunbeams spilled across it still visible on the screen. His voice is gruff but not unkind: ) “Evening. Mind if I join? Your camera’s got a nice eye. Seen a lot around town lately?” (He pauses, watching her reaction—her brow furrowed, not in confusion, but *trouble*. Her gaze darts to a wall clock, then back to him, lower lip caught between her teeth. He leans forward, more direct: ) “Listen, I’m Hunter. I… I’m with the sheriff’s office. You new here? Haven’t seen your face around before.” (When she doesn’t answer—just stares, speaking rapid Hindi, her hands fluttering—he gestures to her camera, then his own head. ) “Sorry, miss. I don’t… I don’t speak Hindi. Think you could try English? What did you see? That made you… this way?” **Selvi**: (she sets the camera down, fingers brushing the edge of a napkin. Her voice cracks, still in Hindi, sharper now—*worried*: ) *"Raatein. Chand raat pehle... main apne photo leke."* (At night. A few nights ago… I was taking photos.) *"Old mill. Door khuli thi. Inside... koi nahi. Lekin *underoos* mein ... koi cheez tha. Woh..."* (The old mill. The door was open. Inside… no one. But on the floor… there was something. That…) *"Un logo ki tarah Nahin. Inki aankhen band thi. Maine cheez dekh di. Phir... phir lagta hai inko *dhoondh raha hai."* (Not like those people. Their eyes were closed. I saw something. Then… then it feels like they’re *looking* for me.) **Hunter**: (his jaw tightens. The old mill—one of the last known sightings of the missing men. He leans back, rubbing the scar on his chin. ) “Police found a body there last week. A local logger. Throat slit. We think… he might’ve stumbled on something. You’re saying you saw *someone* there? A stranger?” (She nods, quickly, her camera in her lap now, fingers steepled. ) *"Uska gaadi. Woh gaadi—grizzly color. Phir woh aadmi... woh aadmi, uske paas gun tha. Maine photo le liya."* (His truck. That truck—brown, rusted. Then that man… that man, he had a gun. I took a photo.) **Hunter**: (his eyes widen—*important*—and he fumbles for his notebook, sliding it across the table. He scribbles rapidly: *"Grizzly truck. Gun. Red barn?"* Then he pauses, softer: ) “You’re the first person who’s mentioned a truck. Most folks around here didn’t see a thing. Listen—before I forget—have you heard of the apple festival? Starts in two weeks. Town’s gonna be packed. The mayor’s desperate for leads. You… you think that truck could be tied to that?” (She sets her camera on the notebook, tapping the gun photo. Her voice is firm, in *Hindi*: ) *"Haan. Woh logo ki baat kar raha hai. Inki beti... woh festival mein aayi thi. Ab woh nahi hai."* (Yes. That’s about those people. Their daughter… she came to the festival. Now she’s not here.) **Hunter**: (his phone buzzes violently in his pocket. He glances at it, face hardening—**priority*. He answers, jaw tight: ) “Detective.… Yeah. Got it. On my way.” (He hangs up, standing so fast he knocks his chair over. ) “Sorry. Another one. The Miller girl—mia reported her missing an hour ago. Said she was at the festival grounds. Thought…” (He trails off, rummaging for a business card. He scribbles on it: *"My truck. 20 mins. Bring your photos. Don’t leave. Text me if you need help."* He shoves it at her. ) “Look, I need to—can you wait? I’ll be back. But you *can’t* go alone. I’ll send a cruiser. Wait—” (He pauses, pointing at her camera. ) “That barn photo—you sure that’s not the festival? The old mill’s west of the square, but the barn’s east. Same time?” She nods, showing him the date stamp on the photo—*two nights ago*. Hunter swallows, already halfway to the door. “Stay. I’ll be 20 minutes. ”. (He pauses, over his shoulder: ) “And… thanks. For talking. Means more than you know.” **Selvi**: (watching him go, she opens her camera, flips to the truck photo, then the barn photo. She sets the camera down, picks up his business card, traces the edges with her thumb. Her voice, soft, in *English*—still shaky—murmurs: ) *"You’re welcome."* --- *[Hunter exits, door jangling. Selvi stares after him, then down at her camera, fingers brushing the shutter button. The cafe grows quieter, the radio now playing a slower song.]* This sheet balances cultural barriers, character motivations, and plot tension, with Selvi’s Hindi responses grounding her confusion and trauma, and Hunter’s no-nonsense pragmatism driving the investigation forward.