Run: 2026-04-24-01KQ013HZA5PCY4CHJFAYHKYVQ

# Cafe Encounter Maria sat at a small corner table, her camera resting on the worn wooden surface. She wasn't taking pictures — just staring at the screen, scrolling through photographs with a distant, haunted expression. Her coffee had gone cold. Hunter pushed through the door of the cafe, the bell jingling overhead. He spotted her almost immediately — the camera was hard to miss. He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down without ceremony. Maria looked up, startled. Hunter: "Excuse me, miss. I'm Detective Hunter. I understand you were at the apple festival last weekend?" Maria: "¿Qué? No... no entiendo. ¿Quién eres tú?" Hunter: "I'm sorry — do you speak English?" Maria: "Inglés... no, no. Soy española. Solo español. ¿Qué quieres?" Hunter: "Spanish? Okay, uh..." He scratched the back of his neck, clearly at a loss. He tried speaking slowly. "The festival. Apple festival. You were there. Yes?" Maria: "¿El festival de manzanas? Sí, sí estuve allí. Pero..." Her hands trembled slightly. She clutched the camera tighter. "Algo malo pasó. Vi algo. No sé qué fue exactamente, pero..." She looked down at the screen of her camera, then back up at Hunter, her eyes wide and wet. "La señora del puesto de miel... desapareció. Simplemente... ya no estaba." Hunter: "I don't — I'm not following. But you're upset about something. That much I can tell." He leaned forward, trying to sound gentle, though it wasn't his natural register. "Disappear. Missing. That word — missing. Were you around someone who went missing?" Maria: "¿Desaparecida? Sí... sí. Desaparecida." She nodded vigorously, then flipped through her camera until she found a photo — a woman smiling behind a table of honey jars. She turned the screen toward Hunter. "Ella. ¿La conoces? Desapareció. Desaparecieron... más de una." Hunter studied the photograph. "That's... that's Diane Kowalski. She was reported missing Tuesday." His jaw tightened. "You took this at the festival?" Maria: "Festival. Sí. Tomé muchas fotos." She scrolled through more images, her breath quickening. "Hay más fotos. Muchas personas. Pero algunas... algunas ya no están. No las encuentro. No sé dónde están." Hunter: "You're saying more people are gone? Who else?" Maria: "No entiendo... por favor, más despacio..." She pressed her fingers to her temples, frustrated. "Es difícil. No sé las palabras." Hunter: "Okay, okay. Take your time." He pulled out a small notepad and sketched a rough stick figure, then drew a question mark over its head. He pointed to it, then around the cafe. "People. Gone. How many?" Maria: "¿Cuántas? No lo sé con certeza. Pero en las fotos..." She gestured wildly at the camera. "Las fotos no mienten. Mira." She kept scrolling, showing him image after image — the festival, crowds, bright autumn colors, apple carts and laughing children. Her finger hovered over certain faces, lingering. Hunter's phone buzzed against the table. He held up one finger to Maria and answered. Hunter: "Hunter here." A pause. His expression hardened. "When? ...I'm on my way." He ended the call and stood, pushing the chair back. Maria: "¿Te vas? ¿Qué pasa? ¿Qué sucede?" Hunter: "I have to go. But I need to talk to you again — and I'm going to find someone who can translate." He pointed at her camera. "Don't delete anything. Those photos could be evidence." Maria: "Evidencia... ¿de qué? ¿Qué está pasando en este pueblo?" Hunter pulled out a card and set it on the table. "I don't know what you just asked. But call this number if you remember anything — or if you see something that scares you." He tapped the card twice, then turned for the door. Maria: "¡Detective! ¡Espere! ¿Es peligroso? ¿Estamos en peligro?" Hunter paused at the door, looked back at her — the fear written plainly across her face. He didn't need to speak Spanish to understand that. Hunter: "Just stay safe, miss." The bell jingled as he disappeared into the cold Minnesota evening.