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Página 1
Page 1. A wide establishing panel of the Tiny Case Agency clubroom — a low wooden desk with the chipped pencil mug, a stack of cardboard boxes, a blank corkboard, a small white mini-fridge, a folding metal chair and a single square window with warm low afternoon sun. Momo stands in her too-big mustard-yellow trench coat and dusty-red scarf, holding her oversized magnifying glass up in both sleeve-swallowed hands and turning her whole body toward a single small round spot of warm golden light glowing on the pastel cream wall. Ganta sits on the boxes with his pale-blue juice box, and Biscuit is curled asleep in her open cardboard box. MOMO: 'There. A light that should not be.'
Página 2
Page 2. A low-angle panel looking up at Momo for maximum tiny drama. She holds her magnifying glass upright in one hand and flings the other arm out to point, her oversized coat flaring behind her like a cape, chin lifted as her theory snaps into place. On the pastel wall behind her, by the square window, glows the single small round spot of warm golden light. MOMO: 'A glow-sprite. It is loose in the agency.'
Página 3
Page 3. A silent still panel. A close view of the soft pastel cream wall in warm low afternoon light: a single small round spot of golden light glows on it, and a faint soft ray of focused sunlight slants down from the upper frame and lands exactly on that spot, quietly showing where the light really comes from. A few dust motes drift in the beam. Nobody is in frame — the answer is already in plain sight. No dialogue.