I did sleep.
A bit.
The note was under my pillow, which was a stupid place to put it, because every time I turned over I could hear the paper crinkle, and every time it crinkled I woke up and read it again in my head.
Keep the last one.
Not for them.
By three in the morning I'd decided I hated whoever wrote it.
By five I'd decided I didn't.
By half past five Sanctuary was so loud it didn't matter what I'd decided, because nobody was sleeping through that.
Thirty-six people getting ready for something at once sounds like a stable on fire.
Cedric was shouting about boots.
Somebody had lost a water skin and was accusing three other people of having it, and all three had it.
Lena was going through her medical satchel for what must have been the fourth time, lips moving, counting bandages.
Roland was eating standing up, which I have never seen him do.
