About the book: 2021 / The Lyceum building is quiet as always. And it's cold. It seems like it was March. Or February. The clock hand was creeping towards the number twelve. The guard, having closed the wardrobe, left this lonely five-story building. As soon as the key turned in the lock, as if on command, the sound of heels was heard in the corridor, echoing throughout the entire floor. No one even suspected that after sunset a new day begins in this lyceum.