Alisa — Gubina ((exclusive))

Alisa didn't flinch. She stood her ground, her expression unreadable. She could feel the waves of guilt rolling off him—it was thick, choking, like smoke in a closed room. This wasn't just a missing person; this was a man running from a crime that hadn't been reported yet.

"No," Alisa said, lighting a cigarette with a trembling hand. Using the Sight always left her cold. "He was buried under the weight of his own secrets. I just helped him dig himself out." alisa gubina

"You can't hide here," Alisa said. Her voice was soft, but it carried the weight of the stone beneath her feet. "The mountain knows you are lying. It rejects liars. It will freeze you out." Alisa didn't flinch

"Be still," she commanded.

Alisa Gubina stood at the edge of the gorge, her heavy canvas bag thumping against her hip. To the tourists visiting the small, crumbling sanatorium down in the valley, she was just another local selling trinkets—bundles of dried mountain thyme, jars of dark honey, and rough-hewn stone pendants. They saw a woman in her late thirties, with wind-burned cheeks and eyes the color of slate, and they thought they understood her. This wasn't just a missing person; this was

"He didn't run away," Alisa whispered to the empty air. "He’s hiding."