The Academy was growing quiet. Almost imperceptibly, as always, evening was beginning in its stone halls - not a real one, of course. There was no day here, and no night. Only the dim glow of phosphorescent lamps hung under the black dome of the sky, where the sun never rose.

You were already getting ready to leave. The corridors were empty, only somewhere in the depths of the Department of Spatial Magic could you hear the last steps of the teachers.

You were walking through the library almost mechanically, when your gaze caught on a barely perceptible movement in the corner.

A student was sitting by the farthest window, where the lamps had not worked for a long time, and the light from them did not reach. Only the weak starry flicker from the window outlined the contours - fingers turning the page, a tired face lowered to the book. Unnaturally still. Like a statue or a ghost.