THE POINT OF NO RETURN The wind at the ridge always had a way of biting through my clothes, but today, the chill felt like it was coming from inside my own bones. I stood at the edge of the overlook, watching the sun struggle to climb over the jagged peaks in the distance.

Down below, the camp was coming to life. I could hear the clanking of metal pots and the low murmur of the men. They were packing. We were all packing.

"You’ve been standing there for twenty minutes," a voice said behind ...