When I finally fell asleep, I dreamt.
I sat on a tiny disk of white floating in a vast, starless void. Melanie perched on the edge, looking over and swinging her feet, her hand, the bad one, clamped on the rim of the circle with white knuckles. Bob sat opposite me, one hand buried in the ground. He told me our vessel couldn't hold three people. If we didn't lose someone soon, the whole thing would collapse. He said that if it collapsed, he would fly away, and I would fall. He said that all that held it up was him, and he was growing weaker. As he said those words, the disk tilted. I slid to the edge, scrabbling frantically at the ground but unable to find purchase. I slid until I stared over the edge, at the night that never ended. Melanie clung tenaciously. I crawled back to the centre, terrified. Bob nodded toward Melanie. Soon, he said. Soon. Act now or everything is lost.
I woke up. The mists had closed in on the camp. They touched the edges, within inches of the bags farthest from the fire. Melanie had moved in the night, shifting away from the mists. It had grown hot and humid. It felt like a storm was about to break.