Run: 2026-03-25-01KMJ8D3EK0XHBN1WWC6PT5YZB

**Maria:** *(fidgeting with her camera, eyes darting around the quiet café as if unsettled by memories)* "¿Detective? ¿Es usted el hombre que busca a... la película?" *(Her voice is soft, trembling slightly, as if afraid her words might unravel something fragile.)* **Hunter:** *(frowns, leaning against the table, arms crossed)* "Ma’am, I need to talk about the... *thing* near the orchard last night. The... *evento*. You seen something?" *(He gestures with his hands as much as he speaks, palms open, a directness from his military background.)* **Maria:** *(nods quickly, then hesitates, tearing off a napkin and scribbling with a shaky hand: "La sombra seguía a las personas" [The shadow was following people]. She slams it down, wide-eyed, before her voice cracks)* "¡No, no, perdone! No debí… es peligroso. Ellos no entendían. No quiero que... *usted* no entienda." *(Her fingers brush her camera, lingering on a photo of the town’s crooked old windmill, corners of which look darker in the image, as if shadowed inconsistently.)* **Hunter:** *(squints at the napkin, then back at her)* "You took photos there. Last night. The... *windmill*?" *(He says the word slowly, trying to anchor the location to their shared silence.)* **Maria:** *(stiffens, suddenly cold)* "¡No! No fuimos a la molino. Fuimos a... *(she points to the horizon, where cornfields stretch past the festival banners hanging limply in the window)* ...el bosque. Detrás. *(She pulls her sleeve up slightly, revealing a faint scratch on her wrist.)* Había... luces allí. No como las del festival. *(She mimes pushing something away—fingers twitching like wind.)* Se llevó a Lupe. Y... a Clara. No se *dónde.*" *(Her voice breaks, and she abandons the word with a sharp exhale.)* **Hunter:** *(runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. Her mention of “Clara” tightens his jaw—a name he’s been hearing since the case started. He’s about to push further when his phone vibrates insistently. He pulls it out, eyes narrowing.)* "Alborn PD. Yeah, What’s the situation?" **Maria:** *(notices the shift in his face, reaches out to touch his hand)* "Espera. No... mueras." *(She drops her hand immediately, horrified at her boldness, and ducks her head. The phrase—a half-English, half-Spanish warning—sticks in the air.)* **Hunter:** *(tape "dead" is interrupted by his gruff, abrupt call hanging up. He faces her, gripping the edge of the table)* "Did you say *Clara*? The... *Clara Quiroz*? The festival’s board member who’s missing?" *(Before she can reply, a car screeches outside. His sergeant’s voice crackles in his earpiece: “Hunter—fermata at the Lee farmhouse. Moved a body.” He stands, already heading for the door.)* **Maria:** *(stands too, clutching her camera to her chest. Her whisper follows him, unsteady)* "Lo encontrarás. Pero... *(she points to her camera, then to the door)* ...promete pedir a Danilo. Él entiende las... luces." *(Danilo—another name he doesn’t recognize. He pauses for a heartbeat, searching her face, then leaves it hanging in the open doorway.)* **Hunter:** *(over his shoulder, terse, as if to himself)* "I’ll be back." **Maria:** *(doesn’t answer. Her eyes remain on the photo she can’t—yet—let him see.)* *(Somewhere, a clock ticks toward the festival’s opening.)*