Far Apart, Safe at Last

During a snow-mountain expedition, an avalanche buried me alive. By the time they dug me out, the cold had already drained every last trace of warmth and life from my body.

Julian Crowe dug through the snow with his bare hands for ten straight hours. His fingers were torn and bleeding by the time he finally pulled me out. Then he chartered a private jet and rushed me to the most elite private hospital for emergency treatment.

Inside the thermal recovery chamber, a faint thread of consciousness returned to me. Through the haze, I heard Julian arguing with the doctor.