Run: 2026-02-20-01KHYB8Z95YGFRF174DHNCREJF

**Isabella:** (fingers brushing the camera strap, eyes darting to the door, voice tight) Sì… sono qui per lo studente exchange. Ma… cosa c'è successo? (She leans slightly forward, lower lip trembling—she’s heard the whispers in the grocery store, seen the cars with "Lost Child" posters.) **Hunter:** (blinking, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, leaning in a little) Pardon? You okay, miss? You speak English? (He notices the camera, the way she’s clutching it—maybe a witness.) **Isabella:** (voice rising, panicked, switching to Italian) No! Non sono bene. Oggi mattina… ho visto… i bambini. Dopo la festa delle mele. Niente. Non ci sono più. (Tears glisten; she buries her face briefly in her free hand before looking up, wide-eyed.) **Hunter:** (confused, frowning) Kids? You saw kids? When? Where? Did they…? (His badge glints—Isabella doesn’t recognize it, but the urgency in his voice makes her flinch.) **Isabella:** (gesturing wildly with the camera, as if the lens can convey the memory) Fotografare! Là, nella foresta. Dopo il festival. Io volevo fare un album. E… (she swallows) Non erano lì. Solo… forbici. Grandi, nere. Sul suolo. **Hunter:** (perking up, leaning in harder) Scissors? Black, big scissors? Where exactly? **Isabella:** (pointing vaguely toward the back of the cafe, then scribbling a rough map on a napkin with her pen) Qui. Vicino al fiume. Una roccia rotta. (She presses the napkin into his hand, her grip urgent.) E… il bambino. Uno piccolo. Con un vestito giallo. Indietro. Dietro la roccia. **Hunter:** (glancing at the napkin, then at his watch—phone buzzing in his pocket) Shit. (He answers it, jaw set, voice barking into the receiver: "Alborn PD.… What?… Got it.") **Isabella:** (standing, camera clutched to her chest, trembling) Dov’è? Devo aiutare. **Hunter:** (holding up a hand, still talking on the phone) Stay. *Please.* I’ll send—(he hangs up, eyes sharp, scanning the room) Need you to describe the scissors again. Brand? Any marks? **Isabella:** (frowning, thinking) Non ho visto. Solo… nera. E… un segno. Un cuore. (She draws it in the air with her finger—a small heart scratched into the blade.) **Hunter:** (nodding, already moving toward the door, hand on his gun) That’s a lead. (He pauses, turning back.) Thank you. Don’t leave this seat. Not until we’re sure. **Isabella:** (watching him go, the napkin still in her hand, voice small in Italian) Please… find him. **Hunter:** (over his shoulder, already halfway out the door) I will. *[He exits, boots thudding on the sidewalk. Isabella sinks back into her chair, staring at her camera—its lens still holds the faint trace of a forest glade.]* This voice sheet balances Isabella’s limited English, her distress, and the clues she provides, while Hunter’s no-nonsense demeanor and detective intuition drive the tension forward. The Italian dialogue (italicized) emphasizes her vulnerability and the cultural/linguistic barrier, while his confusion and urgency ground his character in his role.