Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCTRP24CP6CVP2588Q1KXQM

The crisp autumn air of Alborn, Minnesota, smelled faintly of cinnamon and woodsmoke—a lingering reminder of the town’s bustling annual apple festival. At a corner table outside the local bakery, thirty-year-old Maria shielded the LCD screen of her heavy digital camera against the mid-morning sun. Her fingers, stained slightly with the ink of her notebook, traced the dials. She had come to the Midwest on a study abroad program, and while her English was still a blank slate, her landscape photography spoke volumes. Footsteps crunched heavily on the gravel path. Hunter, a thirty-five-year-old detective with the sharp posture of a former marine, stepped up to the table. He wore a heavy canvas jacket, his expression carrying the permanent, no-nonsense weight of a man chasing ghosts. Three people had vanished from this quiet town of three thousand in as many weeks, and the trail was stone cold. Hunter had seen Maria on the outskirts of town the previous evening, standing near the old orchard where the second victim was last seen, her long telephoto lens pointed toward the treeline. Hunter stopped beside her table, planting a hand on the back of a vacant chair. Maria: "¡Ay, Dios mío!" Hunter: "Morning. I'm Detective Hunter. Department's looking into the recent trouble around town. Saw you out by the orchard last night with that rig. Need to ask you a few questions about what you saw." Maria: "No hablo inglés. Lo siento... yo solo estaba tomando fotos, pero lo que vi... fue horrible. Hab habías... alguien estaba ahí, en el bosque. ¡Había una figura oscura arrastrando algo pesado!" Hunter: "Look, I don't know what you're saying, miss. Just need to know if you saw anyone near the old cider mill around eight o'clock." Maria: "¡Por favor, escúchame! No entiendo nada de lo que dices, pero la policía tiene que hacer algo. ¡El pueblo no es seguro! Vi la camioneta, una Ford vieja y oxidada, con las luces apagadas." Hunter: "Right. Okay. You're shaking. Let's just... take a breath. Are you staying at the inn? Do you have an ID?" Maria: "Mi cámara... tomé una foto. Mira, acérquate, mira la pantalla. ¡Ahí está! ¿Ves? La sombra... la silueta. ¡Tienen que buscar ahí!" Hunter: "English. Do you speak any English? *Parlez-vous français?* Anything?" Maria: "No, no inglés. Soy de España. Estoy muy asustada. Por favor, busquen a alguien que hable español." Hunter's phone buzzed sharply in his inner jacket pocket, cutting off his frustrated sigh. He pulled it out, glanced at the glowing screen, and pressed it to his ear. Hunter: "Hunter. ... Yeah, I'm on it. ... A what? Behind the bakery? Send two units right now." Hunter snapped the phone shut, his jaw tightening as he looked down at Maria, who was clutching her camera to her chest like a shield. Hunter: "Hold that thought. Duty calls."