Sleep didn't come. Revan hadn't expected it to.
For what felt like an hour, though it was probably twenty minutes, he lay in the dark and stared at the warped ceiling of the dining carriage.
Dain's fire was doing its job, barely, burning a strange blue-white. The Dead Zone seemed to steal the warmth out of the fire itself, so it gave light but almost no comfort, like a lantern behind glass.
Around him, the survivors had spread out with gaps between them, because none of them trusted the others. Dain sat by the door, awake, his broadsword across his knees. Near the fire, the three guards who could still walk took turns: two slept while one watched the southern window. Cassian had claimed the far corner, the one with the best view of both exits. With his back against the wall and his coat buttoned to the collar, he sat with his eyes closed.
Whether he was actually asleep was anyone's guess.
When Revan got up, his left side made its opinion known.
