As he continued to dig, he came upon the final layer at the bottom of the bag: sandwiches of fresh falafel stuffed into warm pita pockets, Ahmad’s favorite mithai, chenna murki, and sweet qatayef dumplings filled with nuts and drizzled with honey. But before he could comment on the thoughtful provisions, a sudden hush descended upon the shop, as though a large hand had reached down and cupped itself about the electric nerves and twitching veins of the great, sprawling city.

Had Paheli frozen like New York City, another glitch in the game? The kids looked at each other nervously, but Madame Nasirah had only hummed to herself meditatively.

“Wait just a moment. It will be over shortly.”

There was a distant clatter. And then, abruptly, there was a fizz and whizz of air, like someone had let off fireworks. Ahmad and Winnie both rushed for the window and the metal shutters before it gave way, just enough for them to see a flare of green light spark up from the tip of the minaret at the very heart of the city. The light ebbed down into small veins set into the sides of the structure, making the entire building grow.

“That’s the signal,” Madame Nasirah said behind them. “When the Minaret flares, one of the challenges of the game begins. It can be seen from anywhere in the city. Consider it the beating heart of Paheli.”

“It’s beautiful,” breathed Winnie, pressing her hand against the shutters.

“I know,” Ahmad responded quietly. He absently rubbed his hand against his chest. Something about the Minaret, even in his sketches, reached inside and scratched its nails over old scars in his heart in the worst sort of way. It brought up memories of pain and panic without him even being able to identify what those memories were.

He yelped, jumping back, as something pelted against the window from the inside—right near where he rested his fingers.

“What was that?” Winnie asked, her eyes wide.

Ahmad slowly knelt to pick up the objects. As his fingers glided over them, words sparked in the air.

OBTAINED: BOAT!

OBTAINED: NET!

“Are these . . . some sort of tokens?” Winnie held up her object—the small net—to the light. “Oh wow. It’s so detailed!”

Ahmad leaned in over her shoulder and narrowed his eyes. It was incredibly delicate, as though it had been knitted on the tiniest needles possible. Winnie was right: Every stitch, once you leaned in, was obvious and etched out with care. It trembled against her fingertips under the softness of their breath.

“Do we exchange these for the real things?” Ahmad asked Madame Nasirah, who just shook her head. “I cannot give you details on how to use them. I just make sure you receive them.”