Feuilly peeks into the back room of the Musain, only to find it empty, save the tables and chairs and the floating dust that the sun, setting in the window, makes visible. Of course, his luck precisely, he thinks. He rushed straight from work in desperation to avoid being late to the meeting, only to err on the wrong side and arrive first of all. It doesn't matter so much, he thinks, taking a seat. He'll just wait for the others to arrive.