Run: 2026-02-24-01KJ8W7XKWYJERERN8W99AZJFW

Run Details

Model:: Claude Opus 4.6 (Reasoning)
Test:: Write N of X
Scenario:: 50 sentence summary
Duration:: 30.2s
Cost:: $0.070160
Provider:: Amazon Bedrock

Evaluation summary

Score	Evaluator	Details Link
100.00%	Matches sentence count	(details)

Model input

User/Human

Summarize the following text into exactly 50 sentences, only return the summary itself:

Jack Harper's fingers drummed against the polished bar top, the rhythm a stark contrast to the lazy steel drum music floating through the air. The salty breeze ruffled his meticulously styled hair, carrying the scent of coconut sunscreen and grilled seafood. Sunset Cove was a far cry from Wall Street, and his body knew it. His shoulders, usually tight with the weight of million-dollar deals, didn't know what to do with this forced relaxation.

He glanced at his watch. 6:30 PM. In New York, he'd be heading into a late meeting, not... whatever this was.

"Another scotch. Neat."

A melodic laugh floated over the bar noise. "Rough day at the beach?"

Jack's head snapped up, his gaze colliding with a pair of eyes that put the tropical waters to shame. The bartender's lips curved in amusement, a stark contrast to the judgmental stares he was accustomed to in New York.

"I don't see how anyone gets any work done around here."

"That's the point." She slid the scotch towards him, her movements fluid and unhurried. "We don't."

Jack's fingers closed around the glass, but he didn't lift it. "Some of us have empires to build."

"And some of us are happy with sandcastles." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. The scent of vanilla and sea salt enveloped him. "They're more fun to knock down anyway."

A reluctant smile tugged at Jack's lips. His gaze dropped to her name tag. "Sandy, right?"

"Good eye, Mr..."

"Harper. Jack Harper."

"Well, Mr. Harper, what brings a suit like you to our little slice of paradise? You stick out like a penguin at a flamingo party."

Jack loosened his tie, suddenly aware of how out of place he must look. "Business. Though I'm starting to question my CEO's choice of location for our corporate retreat."

Sandy grabbed a pineapple from a nearby fruit bowl, spinning it in her hands like a basketball. "Let me guess. You're more of a concrete jungle type? All go, no slow?"

"The numbers don't lie. Time is money, and this place..." He waved his hand at the laid-back patrons, the swaying palm trees, the endless stretch of golden sand visible through the open-air bar. A pair of surfers trudged past, boards under their arms, laughing about something he couldn't hear. "It's a productivity black hole."

Sandy's eyebrow arched, a challenge sparking in her eyes. "Maybe you're looking at the wrong numbers."

"Excuse me?"

She set the pineapple down and gestured towards the horizon. The setting sun painted the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks, its light dancing off the waves. "How much would you pay for that view in New York?"

Jack's gaze followed her hand, lingering on the breathtaking canvas nature had laid out. *Damn*. "Point taken."

"So, Jack Harper, master of the universe, what's your grand plan for Sunset Cove domination? Going to turn our little tiki bars into high-rises?"

He chuckled, surprised by how easily she drew him in. There was something about her – a spark, a quick wit that both challenged and intrigued him. "Would you believe me if I said I was here to destroy your quaint little town and build a mega-resort?"

Sandy's eyes widened in mock horror. She pressed a hand to her chest, her expression comically aghast. "You monster. And here I thought you were just another handsome face in an overpriced suit."

"Handsome, huh?"

"Don't let it go to your head. We get all types here." She grabbed a cocktail shaker, her hands moving with practiced ease as she mixed a drink for another customer. "Last week we had a guy who thought he was a mermaid. Now *that* was a look."

Jack leaned in, mirroring her earlier movement. The bar's bamboo edge dug into his stomach, but he barely noticed. "And what type am I?"

Sandy paused, studying him with an intensity that made his pulse quicken. "The kind that needs to loosen his tie and remember how to breathe." She reached out, her fingers brushing his collar. Jack froze, caught off guard by the casual intimacy. "You've got a bit of New York still clinging to you. Might want to dust that off if you plan on surviving here."

Their eyes locked, a challenge sparked between them. Jack felt a flutter in his chest that had nothing to do with the scotch. For a moment, the bar faded away. The music, the laughter, the crash of waves on the shore – it all became white noise.

A loud crash from the other end of the bar shattered the moment. Sandy straightened, professional mask sliding back into place. "Duty calls. Looks like someone's had a few too many Mai Tais."

"Wait-" Jack started, not ready for the conversation to end.

Sandy glanced back, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Try not to work too hard, Mr. Harper. You might accidentally enjoy yourself."

She sauntered away, navigating the crowded bar with ease. Jack watched her go, drawn to the confidence in her stride, the way other patrons lit up as she passed.

*What the hell just happened?*

He turned back to the bar, catching his reflection in the mirrored backsplash. His tie hung loose, his usually perfectly coiffed hair tousled by the sea breeze. He hardly recognized himself.

His phone buzzed, shattering the moment. A message from Marcus flashed on the screen: "Update on the Sinclair account? Don't forget why you're there, Harper."

Reality came crashing back. Jack downed the rest of his scotch, the expensive liquor wasted on his suddenly dry throat. He stood, straightening his tie and smoothing back his hair.

*Focus, Harper. You're not here to flirt with bartenders.*

But as he walked out, the warm wood of the deck creaking under his polished shoes, he couldn't help glancing back. Sandy stood behind the bar, laughing at something a customer said. The fading sunlight caught her hair, turning it to spun gold.

*This could be a problem.*

The ocean breeze hit him as he stepped onto the beach, carrying away the last notes of the bar's music. Jack paused, his shoes sinking slightly into the sand. To his left, the neatly manicured path led back to the resort – back to his laptop, his reports, his familiar world of numbers and deals.

To his right, the beach stretched out, wild and inviting. A few people lingered, silhouetted against the darkening sky. A couple walked hand in hand at the water's edge. A child's delighted shriek carried on the wind as they chased the retreating waves.

Jack's phone buzzed again. Another message from Marcus.

He looked back at the Tiki Hut. Through the windows, he could just make out Sandy's profile as she mixed another drink.

*Get it together, Harper. Eyes on the prize.*

With a final glance at the sunset, Jack turned left, his shoes leaving perfectly formed imprints in the sand as he headed back to his room. But even as he walked away, he could still hear Sandy's laugh, could still feel the ghost of her fingers against his collar.

Sunset Cove, it seemed, had more to offer than he'd bargained for.

Model response

Jack Harper sits at a bar in Sunset Cove, drumming his fingers on the polished bar top, visibly out of place in the tropical setting.
The salty breeze and steel drum music contrast sharply with his usual Wall Street environment.
His shoulders, normally tense from high-stakes deals, struggle to adjust to the forced relaxation.
He checks his watch and notes it is 6:30 PM, a time he would normally be heading into a late meeting in New York.
He orders another scotch, neat, signaling his discomfort with the leisurely pace around him.
A bartender named Sandy catches his attention with a melodic laugh and a teasing remark about his rough day at the beach.
Jack is immediately struck by her striking eyes, which he finds more captivating than the tropical waters.
He complains that he cannot understand how anyone gets work done in such a place.
Sandy tells him that not working is exactly the point of Sunset Cove.
Jack insists that some people have empires to build, revealing his driven, workaholic nature.
Sandy playfully counters that some people are happy building sandcastles, which are more fun to knock down.
Her lighthearted philosophy and the scent of vanilla and sea salt draw a reluctant smile from Jack.
He reads her name tag and confirms her name is Sandy.
She asks what brings a suit like him to their paradise, comparing him to a penguin at a flamingo party.
Jack loosens his tie, suddenly self-conscious about how out of place he looks.
He explains he is there for a corporate retreat, though he questions his CEO's choice of location.
Sandy guesses he is a concrete jungle type who is all go and no slow.
Jack dismisses Sunset Cove as a productivity black hole, gesturing at the laid-back patrons, palm trees, and surfers.
Sandy challenges him by suggesting he is looking at the wrong numbers.
She points to the stunning sunset painting the sky in oranges and pinks and asks how much that view would cost in New York.
Jack follows her gaze and reluctantly concedes the point, impressed by the natural beauty.
Sandy teasingly asks if his grand plan is to turn the tiki bars into high-rises.
Jack jokes that he is there to destroy the quaint town and build a mega-resort.
Sandy reacts with mock horror, calling him a monster but also slipping in that she finds him handsome.
Jack latches onto the compliment, and Sandy deflects by mentioning the various characters who visit the bar.
She tells him about a recent patron who thought he was a mermaid.
Jack leans in and asks what type she thinks he is.
Sandy studies him with an intensity that quickens his pulse.
She tells him he is the kind of person who needs to loosen his tie and remember how to breathe.
She reaches out and brushes his collar, telling him he still has New York clinging to him.
The casual intimacy of her touch catches Jack completely off guard.
Their eyes lock, and a charged moment passes between them as the bar fades into the background.
A loud crash from the other end of the bar breaks the spell between them.
Sandy snaps back into professional mode, explaining she needs to attend to someone who has had too many Mai Tais.
Jack tries to stop her, not wanting the conversation to end.
She tells him not to work too hard, warning he might accidentally enjoy himself.
Sandy saunters away through the crowded bar, and Jack watches her go, drawn to her confidence.
He is left wondering what just happened between them.
He catches his own reflection in the bar's mirrored backsplash and barely recognizes himself with his loose tie and tousled hair.
His phone buzzes with a message from his colleague Marcus, asking for an update on the Sinclair account and reminding him of his purpose there.
Reality crashes back, and Jack downs his scotch, straightens his tie, and smooths his hair.
He tells himself to focus and stop flirting with bartenders.
As he walks out, he cannot help glancing back at Sandy, who is laughing in the fading sunlight that turns her hair to gold.
He acknowledges to himself that she could be a problem.
Standing on the beach, he faces a choice between the path back to the resort and his work or the wild, inviting stretch of beach.
The beach scene around him features a couple walking hand in hand and a child chasing waves.
His phone buzzes again with another message from Marcus.
He looks back toward the Tiki Hut one last time and can see Sandy's profile through the windows.
He turns left toward the resort, his shoes leaving imprints in the sand, but Sandy's laugh and the ghost of her touch linger in his mind.
Sunset Cove, he realizes, has more to offer than he had bargained for.

Evaluation details

Result

Evaluator

Details

Meta Data

100.00%

Matches sentence count

n/a

neededClean	false
sentences	50