Run: 2026-02-25-01KJ95GSMDQ8BKKM32GDS758YY

The scent of roasted coffee beans and baked apples hung heavy in the air of 'The Cozy Cup,' Alborn's most popular (and perhaps only) cafe. Sunlight streamed through the lace-curtained windows, illuminating dust motes dancing above worn wooden tables. Isabella, lost in her own world, traced the lines of her Canon DSLR. The cool metal of the lens felt familiar, a comforting weight in her hands. She was reviewing some shots from a hike near the old logging trails leading to Blackwood Creek, her brow furrowed slightly as she zoomed in on a particularly vibrant patch of wildflowers. Her study abroad program had brought her to Minnesota, a far cry from the rolling hills of Tuscany, and she poured all her visual longing into her photography. A shadow fell over her table. She looked up, her dark eyes meeting a pair of stern, assessing blue ones. A tall man, broad-shouldered with an unsmiling face etched with a weariness that spoke of long hours and grim tasks, stood before her. He wore a dark jacket that looked well-worn, his presence a stark contrast to the cafe’s gentle ambiance. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Ma’am?” Isabella blinked, tilting her head. She recognized the tone of someone trying to get her attention, but the words themselves were a foreign melody. She offered a tentative, polite smile, her hand instinctively tightening around her camera. The man gestured vaguely towards the north, his expression growing a touch more impatient. “Detective Miller, Alborn PD. I’m investigating some… disappearances. Were you out near Blackwood Creek the other day? Say, Tuesday evening?” Isabella’s smile faltered. The mention of Blackwood Creek, the particular time – it struck a raw nerve. She’d been reviewing photos from that very spot. She’d seen… something. Heard something. A chilling wrongness that had clung to her like a damp fog. Her breath hitched. “Oh, Signore!” she blurted out, her voice trembling, the Italian tumbling out in a rush of distress. Her eyes widened, and she instinctively pulled her camera closer. “Quel posto… Non avrei mai dovuto scattare quella foto. Ho sentito… un suono strano. Un rumore. E poi… la paura. Tanta paura. Mi sento ancora male.” Detective Hunter’s brow, already a permanent fixture of concentration, furrowed deeper. The rapid, melodic language washing over him was completely unintelligible. He caught the name "Signore" and a few other sounds, but the meaning eluded him entirely. He could see she was upset, her hands visibly shaking, but her words were gibberish. “Uh… I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Hunter repeated, slower this time, enunciating each syllable. He tried a gesture, pointing to himself, then her, then the window, miming ‘you talk?’ “English? Do you speak… English?” Isabella shook her head vehemently, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. The frustration and fear threatened to overwhelm her. “No, no inglese! Solo… solo quello che vedi!” She gestured frantically towards her camera, then towards the window, a wide-eyed, terrified expression on her face. She could convey the emotion – the terror – but not the details. She’d seen something unspeakable, something that her camera might have captured, and the memory alone was enough to make her stomach lurch. Hunter watched her, trying to piece together her distress. He understood “no English” from her shake of the head and the desperate tone, and his focus shifted from finding clues in her words to interpreting her body language and gestures. She kept pointing at her camera and then toward the woods outside Alborn. He ventured a guess, pointing north himself, miming walking, then looking concerned. “You… saw something? Up there? Near the creek?” Isabella nodded sharply, relief and continued dread warring on her face. She pointed again to her camera, then in the direction Hunter indicated. "Sì, sì! Una foto... un orrore!" Just as Hunter began to process her affirmation, a sharp, insistent buzzing erupted from his hip. He instinctively reached for his phone. The caller ID flashed urgently. His expression, already grim, hardened into one of immediate, no-nonsense focus. He ignored Isabella’s continued worried gaze. “Look, I gotta go,” he said, his voice clipped, already turning. “This is… developing fast. Is there anyone here who can translate for you? You think you saw something that spooked you, and I need to know what.” He scanned the cafe for a moment, his gaze briefly resting on a woman behind the counter, then returned to Isabella, a flicker of frustration mixed with concern in his eyes as he saw her wide, frightened stare. “I’ll be back,” he promised, though the words felt inadequate as he strode out of the cafe, leaving Isabella alone with her camera and her unspoken terror. *** **Voice Sheet** **Hunter:** "Excuse me. Ma’am? I'm Detective Miller, Alborn PD. I'm investigating some… disappearances. Were you out near Blackwood Creek the other day? Say, Tuesday evening?" **Isabella:** (Her voice trembling, speaking rapid Italian) "Oh, Signore! Quel posto… Non avrei mai dovuto scattare quella foto. Ho sentito… un suono strano. Un rumore. E poi… la paura. Tanta paura. Mi sento ancora male." **Hunter:** "Uh… I'm sorry, I don't understand. English? Do you speak… English?" **Isabella:** (Shakes head vehemently, tears welling) "No, no inglese! Solo… solo quello che vedi!" (Gestures towards her camera, then towards the window, making a fearful face.) **Hunter:** (Points north, mimes walking, looking concerned) "You… saw something? Up there? Near the creek?" **Isabella:** (Nods sharply) "Sì, sì! Una foto... un orrore!" **Hunter:** (His phone buzzes loudly. He checks it.) "Look, I gotta go. This is… developing fast. Is there anyone here who can translate for you? You think you saw something that spooked you, and I need to know what." (He glances around the cafe, then back at Isabella.) "I'll be back."