Run: 2026-07-25-01KYCVGKY5X77VCFMHTG2DCA1W

The crisp autumn air of Alborn, Minnesota, smelled faintly of cinnamon and roasting apples from the preparations for the upcoming annual festival. Sitting at a corner table outside *The Rusty Apple Cafe*, thirty-year-old Isabella cradled her beloved digital camera in her hands, her brow furrowed as she scrolled through the landscape shots she had taken near the edge of the woods that morning. A heavy shadow fell over her table. Detective Hunter stood there, his large frame and no-nonsense Marine posture casting a stark contrast against the quaint, small-town cafe. He flipped open a small leather notebook, his sharp eyes scanning the young Italian exchange student. "Ma'am," Hunter said, his voice a gravelly rumble. "I'm Detective Hunter. I need to ask you a few questions about what happened out by the north ridge earlier today. Witnesses saw you taking pictures up there right before the commotion. Did you see anyone else out in those woods?" Isabella looked up, her dark eyes wide with residual fright. Her hands trembled slightly as she clutched the camera to her chest. She had no idea what the tall man in the jacket was saying, but the word 'woods' and the grim set of his jaw told her it was about the missing persons cases that had the town on edge. "Oh, madonna mia," Isabella gasped, launching into rapid, panicked Italian. "Non so cosa sia successo! Ero solo lì per catturare i colori dell'autunno, la nebbia tra gli alberi... e poi ho sentito quel rumore metallico, un tonfo sordo! Ho fatto una foto, guardi, guardi l'angolo dello scatto!" She pointed frantically at the LCD screen, her voice shaking with distress. "Ho visto qualcuno... o qualcosa... trascinare un sacco pesante verso la vecchia cava! È orribile!" Hunter stared down at her, blinking slowly. His expression morphed from intense interrogation to sheer, unadulterated bewilderment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, looking around the quiet street as if hoping a translator would magically appear. "Whoa, slow down," Hunter said, holding up a large palm. "English, please. Do you speak English? Look, I just need to know if you saw Arthur Miller or anyone matching his description." "Non capisco!" Isabella pleaded, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she tapped the camera screen, desperate to make him understand the danger she had captured on the lens. "Per favore, non parla inglese! C'è un pericolo qui!" Hunter let out a long sigh, realizing this was getting him nowhere. He patted his jacket pockets, looking for a way to bridge the language gap—perhaps a translation app or a local college student—when his cell phone buzzed loudly in his palm. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and muttered a curse under his breath. The precinct was calling about a new lead at the Apple Orchards. Tucking the phone to his ear, Hunter gave Isabella one last apologetic, frustrated look and backed away from the table. "Stay right here," he commanded, though he knew she probably wouldn't understand a word of it. "Don't touch anything." *** ### Voice Sheet Isabella: "Oh, madonna mia! Non so cosa sia successo! Ero solo lì per catturare i colori dell'autunno, la nebbia tra gli alberi... e poi ho sentito quel rumore metallico, un tonfo sordo! Ho fatto una foto, guardi, guardi l'angolo dello scatto! Ho visto qualcuno... o qualcosa... trascinare un sacco pesante verso la vecchia cava! È orribile!" Hunter: "Ma'am. I'm Detective Hunter. I need to ask you a few questions about what happened out by the north ridge earlier today. Witnesses saw you taking pictures up there right before the commotion. Did you see anyone else out in those woods?" Isabella: "Non capisco! Per favore, non parlo inglese! C'è un pericolo qui!" Hunter: "Whoa, slow down. English, please. Do you speak English? Look, I just need to know if you saw Arthur Miller or anyone matching his description." Isabella: "Guardi la macchina fotografica! La mia macchina fotografica!" Hunter: "Stay right here. Don't touch anything."