Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFD7MQK1QTW9TJ0FH57JXHX

Maria: [staring intently at her camera’s display, flipping through landscape photos of Alborn’s surrounding apple orchards, not looking up until Hunter clears his throat] Hunter: "Ma'am, Detective Hunter with the Alborn Sheriff's Department. [taps his badge laid flat on the cafe table, gruff and no-nonsense] You were out at the west orchard yesterday evening around 7PM, right? That’s the same time 17-year-old Lila Mae Carter went missing from our annual apple festival. I need to know what you saw out there." Maria: [blinks up at him, lost for a second before she registers he’s law enforcement, hands tightening so hard around her camera her knuckles whiten, voice shaking] "Lo siento, no hablo inglés. Por favor, usted tiene que ayudarme, yo vi algo terrible ayer. Un hombre enorme, arrastraba a una chica con una sudadera rosa hacia una camioneta azul vieja. Ella gritaba, él le tapaba la boca. Yo tenía mi cámara, tomé fotos antes de que él me viera y yo salí corriendo." Hunter: [furrows his brow, completely unable to parse her rapid Spanish, holding up a hand to slow her] "Wait, hold on. I don’t speak any Spanish. Not a single word. Can you point to what you’re talking about? Is that your camera? Did you take pictures of whoever you saw?" Maria: [nods frantically, tapping her camera’s screen so hard her nail cracks, leaning across the table to shove the device toward him, voice still trembling] "Sí, todas las fotos están aquí, mire. Él llevaba una chaqueta del festival de manzanas, la misma que usan todos los voluntarios aquí. Podría ser cualquiera. Tenía miedo de decirle a alguien porque temo que él me encontrara a mí también." Hunter: [leans forward, squinting at the blurry photo on her screen but unable to make out details, fumbling for his phone to pull up Google Translate, cursing under his breath when only one bar of service pops up] "Stupid small town cell service, never works when you need it. Ma’am, I get you’re upset, but I can’t help you if I can’t understand what you’re saying. I can line up a translator to meet us tomorrow at the sheriff’s office, okay? We can go over every photo, every detail, get that girl home safe." Maria: [tilts her head, not understanding a word of his frustrated explanation, opening her mouth to ramble further in Spanish when Hunter’s phone blares loudly from his palm] Hunter: [fumbles to answer, face going tight and pale as he listens, barking into the receiver] "Yeah? Another missing person? 20-year-old girl, vanished from the festival main stage an hour ago? Shit, I’m five minutes out." [slams his phone shut, grabs his leather jacket, and slaps his department business card on the table between them, scribbling the station’s address and 10AM the next day on the back, pointing firmly between Maria and the card before he turns to run for the door] "I’m so sorry, I have to go. Be there tomorrow, please. I’ll get someone who can understand you."