Ahmad grasped Winnie’s hand. They glanced back at Paheli one more time. They could see the seamed exterior of the Minaret now as it teetered back and forth. It snapped in half, revealing an ancient inner core: tall marble and a green flash of fire at the top.

“Good-bye, dream city,” Ahmad said softly.

He and Winnie stepped through the doorway, and onto the sticky grass of Central Park. They turned to see the Architect and MasterMind walking toward the depths of Paheli.

They could hardly make out anything but their small bodies moving against the sand. The entire portal shimmered out of existence. There was nothing there except for a brick wall. But Ahmad and Winnie only had eyes for the park exit and the street beyond it. They rushed farther into it, staring eagerly at what lay ahead. In front of them was one of the most beautiful scenes they had ever laid their eyes on: their neighborhood of the Upper East Side, with not a grain of sand to be seen on its worn but welcoming pavements, not an unhappy face turned upward to the sky as kids skipped home from after-school classes, and tourists milled toward waiting taxis with shopping bags in hand.

“Home,” Ahmad sighed happily. “It’s perfect.”

“Do you think Paheli is gone?” Winnie said anxiously.

Vijai Bhai turned to stare back at where the door had been, the kids following his gaze. Every trace of it had disappeared.

Ahmad thought for a moment about the look in Lord Amari’s eyes, about Madame Nasirah’s warm smile and ready teapot, and the beautiful streets he wished he could have walked peacefully.

“I hope not,” he said quietly. “But I think that was the end of it for us.”

Within minutes, the three of them had reached Ahmad’s building, and the once too-fast elevators seemed tame after their rickshaw racing and other adventures.

Ma opened the front door with a smile, the smell of spicy chicken curry and freshly steamed rice wafting out behind her.

“Ahmad! Goodness, I thought you would have started your project by now. Mr. Willis said you left an hour ago! Is this your friend Winnie?”

Ma wiped her hand on the dish towel tucked in at her waist. “Winnie’s father said he would be back in two hours, and . . . oh, what’s the matter?”

Ahmad buried his head into her orna and snuggled himself tightly. He could practically feel the silly grin radiating off Winnie’s face, but he focused on soaking in his mother’s scent and feel and everything that just made her his mom, whole and warm and definitely not frozen—though there was a suspicious dampness at the ends of her scarf.

“Oh, Ahmad,” Ma said, squeezing him back. “You sweetheart. Come on, baby, set the table.”