Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCV638WMX8TTME948SGKGFM

The crisp autumn air of Alborn, Minnesota, smelled faintly of cinnamon and woodsmoke—a lingering reminder of the town’s bustling annual apple festival. Inside the cozy warmth of the *Crisp & Crust Bakery*, thirty-year-old Marie sat by the window, the soft clink of porcelain mugs providing a gentle soundtrack to her quiet afternoon. Her fingers traced the worn grip of her digital camera, her eyes glued to the LCD screen. She zoomed in on a particular photograph, her breath catching in her throat. The bell above the café door chimed, and Detective Hunter stepped inside. The thirty-five-year-old former Marine cut an imposing figure in his heavy trench coat, his no-nonsense attitude practically radiating off him. He scanned the room, his sharp eyes locking onto the French college student. He crossed the floor with steady, purposeful strides and pulled out the chair opposite her without waiting for an invitation. Hunter: "Excuse me, miss. I’m Detective Hunter. I need to ask you a few questions about what happened down by the orchard last night. I was told you were out there with your camera." Marie looked up, her eyes wide with lingering terror. Her hands trembled as she clutched the camera tighter to her chest, speaking rapidly in her native tongue, completely forgetting—or perhaps too panicked to care—that he wouldn't understand. Marie: "C’était horrible! J'étais en train de photographier la brume sur les pommiers quand j'ai entendu un cri, et puis... plus rien. Juste une ombre qui a disparu dans les bois. Il y a quelqu'un d'autre qui a disparu, n'est-ce pas ?" Hunter blinked, leaning back slightly. He stared at her, his brow furrowing as he tried to process the rapid-fire stream of French. Hunter: "Whoa, slow down. English, please. Look, I don't know a word of French. Did you see something or not?" Marie shook her head frantically, pointing at the camera's small screen and tapping it with a trembling finger, hoping the visual evidence would bridge the linguistic gap. Marie: "Regardez l'écran! Je ne sais pas comment le dire en anglais, mais la silhouette... elle portait un vieux manteau sombre. C'est le troisième cette semaine, non? Alborn n'est plus un endroit sûr." Hunter squinted at the camera, leaning forward to get a better look at the blurry, backlit image on the display. Hunter: "I can't tell what I'm looking at, kid. Is that a shadow or a coat? Look, just... stay here. Keep that camera safe. If you remember anything else—in English, if you manage it—let me know." Before Marie could try to gesture her way through another explanation, Hunter’s tactical radio buzzed loudly from inside his coat. He pulled it out with a sigh, pressing the receiver to his ear. Hunter: "Hunter. Yeah, I copy. On my way." He gave Marie a sharp nod of dismissal, standing up abruptly. Hunter: "Duty calls. Don't leave town." Without another word, Hunter turned on his heel and strode out of the café, leaving Marie alone with her chilling photographs and the quiet, mounting dread of Alborn's autumn secrets.