Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYA2KGMBDDKJ3BYJHFFQWK8

**Scene: *The Quiet Corner Café – Alborn, MN*** *The late afternoon sun filters through the café’s large windows, casting golden streaks across the polished wooden tables. Isabella sits alone in a corner booth, her fingers tracing the edge of her camera case. The lens cap is off, the camera resting idle in her lap. Her dark eyes are distant, lost in thought—or maybe in memory. The hum of quiet conversation and the occasional clink of china fills the air.* *Then, the door chimes. Hunter steps inside, his broad frame filling the doorway before he scans the room. His sharp gaze lands on Isabella. He hesitates for half a second—something about her posture, the way she clutches her camera—before he strides toward her.* --- ### **VOICE SHEET: DIALOGUE** *(Hunter pulls out the chair across from her. He doesn’t sit immediately, just stands there, arms crossed, assessing. His voice is low, direct.)* **HUNTER** *(gruff, no-nonsense)* "Ma’am. You’re the one who took those photos, right? The ones that went viral last night?" *(Isabella startles. Her fingers tighten around the camera strap. She looks up at him, her expression unreadable—then, slowly, she shakes her head, as if clearing it. She speaks in rapid Italian, her voice trembling.)* **ISABELLA** *(shaken, urgent)* *"No, no, no—io non ho visto niente! Io non so—"* *(I didn’t see anything! I don’t know—)* *(Hunter blinks. His brow furrows. He doesn’t speak Italian. He doesn’t even know what she’s saying. But he sees the fear in her eyes, the way her hands are shaking.)* **HUNTER** *(leaning in slightly, voice softer but still firm)* "Hey. Hey, take it easy. I’m not here to accuse you of anything. I just—" *(he gestures vaguely at the camera)* "—those pictures. The ones of the woods. The ones with the… marks." *(Isabella’s breath hitches. She swallows hard, her knuckles white around the camera. She nods once, then speaks again, slower this time, as if choosing her words carefully.)* **ISABELLA** *(whispering, strained)* *"Io ero lì. Ma non ho visto nulla. Solo… solo ombre. E poi—"* *(I was there. But I didn’t see anything. Just… just shadows. And then—)* *(She trails off, her voice breaking. Hunter exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s seen this look before—guilt, fear, the kind of terror that sticks with you long after the fact.)* **HUNTER** *(gentler now, but still precise)* "You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. But those photos—someone’s been asking about them. And now another person’s missing." *(Isabella’s eyes widen. She presses a hand to her chest, as if the words physically hurt her.)* **ISABELLA** *(panicked, in Italian)* *"Un altro? No… no, non può essere—"* *(Another? No… it can’t be—)* **HUNTER** *(watching her closely)* "You speak English?" *(She shakes her head, her dark curls bouncing slightly. She opens her mouth to say something else, but her phone buzzes on the table. She doesn’t look at it. Doesn’t reach for it.)* **ISABELLA** *(softly, in Italian)* *"Non so cosa dire. Io non so niente."* *(I don’t know what to say. I don’t know anything.)* *(Hunter studies her for a long moment. Then his radio crackles on his belt. He glances at it, curses under his breath.)* **HUNTER** *(to himself, then to her)* "Gotta go. But—" *(he pulls a business card from his pocket, slides it across the table)* "—if you remember anything. Anything at all. Call me." *(Isabella stares at the card, then at him. She doesn’t take it. Doesn’t move.)* **ISABELLA** *(in Italian, barely audible)* *"È colpa mia?"* *(Is it my fault?)* *(Hunter hesitates. Then, quietly:)* **HUNTER** "No. But it might help." *(He turns and walks away, the café door chiming behind him. Isabella is left alone, the weight of the card on the table, the weight of her camera in her lap, and the weight of something unsaid pressing down on her chest.)* --- **END SCENE.** *(Note: The Italian phrases are rough translations for context—Isabella’s actual speech would be fluid and emotional, but the meaning is clear: fear, confusion, and the gnawing sense that she knows more than she’s letting on.)*