Run: 2026-03-11-01KKFKW4YDDV63G1N0Z4MHDSPT

**INT. CAFE IN ALBORN, MN — AFTERNOON** The bell above the door jingled softly as Detective Hunter stepped inside, his eyes scanning the small café the way they always did — methodically, cataloging every face. Most of the patrons he recognized. Old Mr. Henley reading the local gazette. Two teenage girls splitting a milkshake. And then there was the young woman in the corner booth, dark hair spilling over her shoulders, completely absorbed in the small digital camera she held in her hands. She wasn't from here. He'd noticed her around town the past few days — always with that camera, always alone. Someone had mentioned she was part of some study program at the college down the road. He approached her table. --- **Hunter:** "Excuse me, miss? Sorry to bother you. I'm Detective Hunter — I work with the local sheriff's office. I'm wondering if I could ask you a few questions." **Isabella:** *(looks up from her camera, startled, and smiles politely)* "Sì? Mi scusi — non parlo inglese. Parla italiano?" **Hunter:** "...I'm sorry?" **Isabella:** *(speaks faster, gesturing with her hands)* "Italiano. Io parlo italiano. Non capisco inglese. Per favore, più lentamente — no, non —" *(She pauses, seeing his blank expression, then tries pointing to herself.)* "Isabella. Mi chiamo Isabella." **Hunter:** *(pulling out the chair across from her and sitting down slowly, rubbing the back of his neck)* "Isabella. Okay. Isabella. Look, I — I don't —" *(He makes a flat, chopping gesture with his hand.)* "I don't speak... whatever that is." **Isabella:** *(lets out a small, frustrated breath and then brightens, pointing to her camera)* "Fotografia. Io faccio fotografie. Capisce?" **Hunter:** "Photography? You take photographs?" *(He mimes holding a camera and pressing a button.)* **Isabella:** *(nods vigorously, relieved)* "Sì, sì! Fotografie! Brava!" *(She turns the camera toward him, showing the screen — a series of sweeping landscape shots of the farmland surrounding Alborn, golden fields under a wide gray sky.)* **Hunter:** *(leans in, genuinely impressed despite himself)* "Those are... actually really good. The light in that one —" *(catches himself, straightens up, clears his throat)* "Anyway. That's not why I'm here. Listen —" **Isabella:** *(tilts her head, waiting, her brow furrowed with effort as she tries to follow his words.)* **Hunter:** *(speaks slowly, enunciating each word, and points toward the window, then mimes writing in a small notebook — his best attempt at conveying "official business.")* "I. Am. Investigating. Something. In town. Something bad. You understand? Bad." **Isabella:** *(her smile falters. Something in his tone — or perhaps the word "bad" — registers. Her fingers tighten around the camera.)* "Cattivo? Cosa è successo?" **Hunter:** "I don't —" *(He shakes his head.)* "I don't know what you just said. Okay." *(He pulls out his phone and opens a translation app, types something, and turns the screen toward her.)* **Isabella:** *(reads the screen — "Have you seen anything unusual?" — and her face changes immediately. The color drains from her cheeks. She sets the camera down on the table with a trembling hand.)* **Isabella:** *(in rapid, distressed Italian)* "Sì — sì, ho visto qualcosa. La scorsa notte... ero fuori a fotografare il tramonto, vicino al vecchio mulino sulla Route 7. Ho sentito un rumore — qualcuno che correva nei campi. Ho provato a guardare, ma... era buio. Poi, niente. Silenzio. Ma la mattina dopo... ho trovato delle impronte. Molte impronte. E queste..." *(She fumbles through her bag and pulls out a small envelope, from which she extracts two photographs she'd printed that morning — images of strange, deep grooves pressed into the soft earth near the tree line.)* **Hunter:** *(takes the photographs, studying them carefully. His jaw tightens. These matched the scene near where the last person went missing.)* "Where was this? Where did you take these?" **Isabella:** *(points east, then mimes a winding road with her finger on the table.)* "Il mulino. Il vecchio mulino. Sette... Route 7." **Hunter:** *(nods slowly)* "The old mill. Yeah. That's... that's the third disappearance we've had this month. Right near there." *(He looks up at her, his expression serious.)* "You didn't see a face? Anything at all?" **Isabella:** *(shakes her head, her eyes glistening. She wraps her arms around herself.)* "No. Niente. Solo il rumore. E poi... paura. Molta paura." **Hunter:** *(stares at her for a long moment. He may not understand a single word of Italian, but he understands fear. He's seen it enough times — in combat zones, in interrogation rooms, on the faces of the families who come to his office asking about their loved ones.)* **Hunter:** "I'm going to keep these photographs. If that's okay with you." **Isabella:** *(reads the word "photographs" off his lips and nods, waving her hand — take them, please.)* "Sì, sì. Prendetele. Per favore." **Hunter:** *(tucks the envelope carefully into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a business card, sliding it across the table.)* "If you see anything else — anything — you call this number. Someone at the station speaks a little Spanish; maybe they can figure out what you're saying." *(He almost smiles. Almost.)* **Isabella:** *(takes the card, reads it, and nods. She picks up her pen from beside her coffee cup and writes something on a napkin, sliding it toward him.)* **Hunter:** *(reads it — she's written, in surprisingly neat English:* **"I will look. Be safe."** *He looks up at her, eyebrows raised.)* **Isabella:** *(gives a small, shy shrug and taps the translation app on her own phone. She'd downloaded it when she first arrived in town, knowing no English. She just hadn't figured out how to use it fast enough for a real conversation.)* **Hunter:** *(allows himself a brief nod of something close to respect.)* "You too, miss." *His phone buzzes. He pulls it out, glances at the screen, and his expression hardens.* **Hunter:** *(answering, his voice dropping low and clipped)* "Hunter.... Yeah. When?... Where exactly?... I'm on my way." *He hangs up, shoves the phone into his pocket, and stands abruptly.* **Hunter:** "I have to go. Stay away from that mill. I mean it." **Isabella:** *(understanding the urgency in his voice if not his words, nods quickly.)* "Sì. Va bene. Vada." **Hunter:** *(already moving toward the door, then stops and turns back. He looks at her — this strange, frightened young woman thousands of miles from home, clutching her camera like a lifeline.)* "Lock your door tonight." *He doesn't wait for a response. The bell above the door jingles as he disappears into the gray Minnesota afternoon.* **Isabella:** *(sits alone, the business card warm in her hand, and stares at the two empty chairs at her table as if willing someone — anyone — to sit down across from her.)* *She picks up her camera and, almost instinctively, photographs the chair where Hunter had been sitting. The evidence of a stranger who, for a few minutes, had made her feel slightly less alone.* --- **END SCENE**