Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYAKMM7YYR45FHGYHZ9ZDDV

**Scene: *The Café by the Clock Tower*** *(The sun hangs low over Alborn, casting long shadows across the wooden boardwalk outside *Le Café des Amis*. Marie sits at a small table, her camera resting on the tabletop, the lens cap off as she studies a recent photograph of the town’s apple orchards. The warm glow of the café’s lanterns flickers over her as she adjusts the focus. A few minutes later, a tall figure in a dark coat steps inside, his boots clicking against the worn tiles. He scans the room, then locks eyes with Marie. He approaches.)* --- **Hunter:** *(leaning against the counter, arms crossed)* Bonjour. Je suis détective Hunter. Vous êtes étudiante, n’est-ce pas? **Marie:** *(startled, her fingers tightening around the camera strap)* ... *(she hesitates, then speaks slowly, her voice low and urgent)* Je... je prends des photos. *(She gestures vaguely toward the orchards.)* Les pommes. *(She pauses, then adds, more sharply.)* Les disparitions. **Hunter:** *(stops mid-step, his expression darkening)* Disparitions? You’re talking about the missing people? **Marie:** *(nods, her voice barely above a whisper)* Oui. *(She swallows hard, her grip on the camera tightening.)* Trois cette semaine. *(She points toward the window, where the town’s clock tower looms.)* Le vieux monsieur près de la mairie... *(She shakes her head.)* Et la femme avec les enfants. *(Her breath comes faster.)* Ils sont partis. *(She turns back to the camera, but her hands shake.)* Je ne sais pas pourquoi. **Hunter:** *(steps closer, voice low and measured)* You’re saying someone’s taking people from Alborn? **Marie:** *(nods again, her voice trembling)* Oui. *(She looks away, her eyes darting to the door.)* Je ne veux pas être là quand ça arrive. *(She turns back, her voice breaking.)* Je ne veux pas voir ça. *(A beat. Hunter studies her—her wide eyes, the way her fingers tremble around the camera strap. Then, the café door creaks open behind him. A woman in a floral dress steps in, her voice sharp.)* **Woman:** *(to Hunter, in English)* You’re not supposed to be here, Hunter. The mayor’s got a meeting. **Hunter:** *(turns, his expression unreadable)* I’ll be right back. *(He turns back to Marie, his voice gruff.)* Je dois partir. *(He nods once, then walks out, the door slamming behind him.)* *(Marie exhales sharply, her shoulders slumping. She stares at the camera, then at the photograph on the table—one of the orchards, the kind of place where people disappear. She swallows hard, then reaches for her bag, pulling out a small notebook. She jots something down, then tucks it away before anyone notices.)* --- **End Scene.**