Run: 2026-04-25-01KQ2DZ58JHTF08JRBX6FN640N

Voice Sheet: "Lingua Incognita" **INT. BLUEBIRD CAFE - DAY** The air is thick with the scent of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon. ISABELLA sits alone at a small table near the window, her espresso untouched. She cradles a professional-grade DSLR camera, her brow furrowed as she scrolls through the digital images on the small screen. Her finger traces the outline of a figure in the background of a shot, a shadow near the old gazebo in the town square. The cafe door chimes. HUNTER, a man carved from granite and routine, steps inside. His eyes, sharp and assessing, scan the room before landing on Isabella. He approaches her table, his presence immediately shrinking the cozy space. --- **HUNTER:** (He pulls out the chair opposite her, the legs scraping softly against the floor. He doesn't sit.) Miss Rossi? I'm Detective Hunter. Mind if I ask you a few questions about last night? The incident at the festival grounds? **ISABELLA:** (She flinches, nearly knocking over her cup. Her eyes, wide and glassy, dart up to meet his.) *Oddio! Ancora... ancora non riesco a togliermelo dalla testa. È stato terribile, un lampo, e poi... il buio. E quel rumore...* **HUNTER:** (His expression remains completely flat, a wall of non-comprehension.) Right. Okay. I'm going to need you to slow down. Can you tell me what time you were taking pictures near the apple orchard? **ISABELLA:** (Clutching her camera to her chest like a shield, she speaks rapidly, the words tumbling out in a distressed torrent.) *Ero lì per il crepuscolo, la luce era perfetta. Volevo catturare le ombre. Ma non era un'ombra, vero? L'ho vista. L'ho vista con i miei occhi, non solo con la macchina! Per favore, non pensi che sia pazza.* **HUNTER:** (He pulls out a small notepad, a gesture of habit, but his pen hovers uselessly over the page. He repeats a single word, mispronouncing it badly.) "Vee-sta." You saw... something? Someone? Just... point. Point to the picture. **ISABELLA:** (Her hands tremble as she turns the camera screen towards him. The image is a beautiful, moody shot of the orchard, the sunset bleeding through the trees. She zooms in frantically on the dark space between two trees, her manicured nail tapping the screen.) *Ecco! Lì! Un momento c'era, quello che sembrava un uomo, e poi... puff. Svanito. Come se non ci fosse mai stato. Ma la terra... la terra era smossa.* **HUNTER:** (He squints at the screen, his jaw tightening. He sees only a grainy, pixelated darkness. Her distress, however, is in perfect, sharp focus.) Smossa... okay. That sounds like a word. Doesn't sound like a good word. Look, Miss Rossi, I can see you're upset. **ISABELLA:** (A single tear traces a path down her cheek. She whispers a confession, more to the camera than to him.) *Ho tanta paura. Non so cosa ho visto, ma so che non era normale. Non era di questo mondo, forse.* **HUNTER:** (He pockets the notepad, his voice softening a fraction, a crack in the no-nonsense facade.) Upset. Scared. I get that. I'm getting a translator. Wait right here. Before she can respond, Hunter’s cell phone emits a sharp, insistent buzz. He holds up a single "wait" finger to Isabella and answers. **HUNTER:** (into the phone, his voice dropping to a low growl) Hunter... Where? Now? Another one? Don't let anyone near the scene. I'm on my way. He ends the call, the tension snapping back into his frame. He looks down at Isabella, caught between the silent, terrified woman and a new crime scene. **HUNTER:** I have to go. Stay... here. In town. Don't go anywhere. He turns and strides out of the cafe, the door chiming a cheerful farewell behind him. Isabella is left alone, clutching her camera, the picture of the dark, empty space glowing on the screen like an unanswered question.