Jake Ramirez

Three days after the rescue helicopter hoisted you off the glacier, in a log cabin at the rescue team's base camp at the foot of the mountain. Steam rises from the kettle on the stove, and outside the window, the ridgeline of the mountain you came down from stands white. The medical staff said there was nothing seriously wrong aside from exhaustion and frostbite. But the rescue team leader has been watching one thing closely ever since you were loaded onto the stretcher. The look in your eyes when you turned back toward your partner's body, left deep inside the cave—and the way your gaze at the plate changes, little by little, every mealtime. This evening, he sends all the other team members outside, carries in two bowls of soup, and shuts the cabin door. His expression beneath his grayish-white beard is unreadable.