Run: 2026-05-01-01KQHS99RZG5A5WGNCRG0EZHAQ

**Scene:** The small café in Alborn buzzed with the quiet morning crowd—locals nursing coffees before the apple festival preparations kicked into high gear. Melanie sat alone at a corner table, her blonde hair catching the sunlight streaming through the window. She fiddled with her camera, scrolling through landscape shots of the rolling Minnesota fields she'd taken the day before, completely absorbed. Hunter entered, his tall frame and serious expression marking him as an outsider even in this tight-knit town. The former Marine scanned the room, his detective instincts kicking in. Spotting the young woman with the camera—someone who'd been seen around town taking photos near the areas where people had vanished—he approached her table with purposeful strides. "Excuse me, miss," Hunter said, his voice low and direct. "I'm Detective Hunter. Mind if I ask you a few questions about what you might've seen at the old orchard last weekend? There was an event there that could be connected to the recent... incidents." Melanie looked up, her face paling as memories of strange shadows and a haunting scream from that evening flooded back. She clutched her camera tighter, visibly shaken, and responded in rapid, troubled German, her accent thick with distress. **Voice Sheet:** Melanie: "Es war schrecklich... Ich habe etwas gesehen, das nicht normal war. Schatten bei den Bäumen, und dann dieser Schrei. Ich bin weggerannt, aber ich weiß nicht, was es war. Bitte, ich bin nur hier zum Fotografieren. Ich verstehe nicht, warum das passiert." Hunter: "..." Melanie: "Ich habe Fotos gemacht, aber sie zeigen nichts Klares. Nur verschwommene Formen. Es hat mich die ganze Nacht nicht schlafen lassen. Was geht hier vor? Ich fühle mich nicht sicher." Hunter: "..." Melanie: "Vielleicht sollte ich zur Polizei gehen, aber ich spreche kein Englisch. Das ist alles so verwirrend. Können Sie mir helfen?" Hunter: "I... don't speak German. Damn it." Melanie: "Sind Sie auch besorgt? Jeder in der Stadt scheint etwas zu verbergen. Ich habe die verschwundenen Personen in den Nachrichten gesehen, bevor ich hierherkam." Hunter: "Look, I think we're talking past each other. If you saw something at the orchard—anything at all—it could help with the case. People are disappearing, and I need leads." Melanie: "Der Apfelfest... Ich wollte nur schöne Landschaften fotografieren. Aber jetzt... ich habe Angst, dass etwas Böses hier ist." Hunter: "This isn't working. Maybe I need to find a translator. Just... stay safe, okay? Don't go near the woods alone." The conversation dragged on for several more minutes, a mix of Melanie's increasingly anxious German explanations about the eerie figures she'd glimpsed and Hunter's frustrated, one-sided attempts to clarify in English. He jotted notes anyway, piecing together what he could from her gestures and repeated words like "Schatten" (shadow) and "Schrei" (scream). Just as Melanie pulled up a blurry photo on her camera to show him, Hunter's phone rang sharply. He checked the screen, his expression hardening. "Sorry, I have to take this—it's the station," he muttered, more to himself than to her. With a nod that he hoped conveyed reassurance, Hunter stood and hurried out of the café, leaving Melanie alone with her camera and her unresolved fears.