“You’re welcome,” the jinn purred. “It was a chance for me to remind my city who truly owns it, after all. At least some of my servants didn’t forget. Without that Titus Salt, I couldn’t have engineered a level in time.”

Winnie spluttered in shock.

Ahmad took advantage of the jinn’s distraction to check on Lord Amari. “You okay, Amari?”

“Lord Amari to you.” Amari gifted him with a look of distaste. “I’ve been better,” he sniffed, but Ahmad could see the paleness of his cheeks, the tremors in his hands.

The MasterMind was keeping a safe distance, trembling from head to toe. Winnie gave her a look of disgust.

“So much for your partnership through thick and thin, huh?” Winnie spat. “Then again, I don’t think villains are the type that stick up for each other.”

The MasterMind bristled, pulling herself back up to her full height. “What do you know? It’s been thick and thin since I came here!”

Suddenly she looked very, very young.

“I went from my parents being too busy to care, to being trapped in an entire world that wouldn’t acknowledge me, but also expected to be saved. I saved it, when he couldn’t. I made the code. I solved the problems. I kept us both alive!”

She roughly rubbed her nose against her sleeve and turned her back to them.

Winnie shook her head. “Okay, then, drama queen,” she said, but her voice didn’t have any bite to it.

She looked at Ahmad, her brow creased with worry while he examined the Architect for damages, keeping a wary eye on the jinn. The horrific creature was currently leering at Paheli, snapping his fingers and collapsing buildings, watching them crumble with a cackle.

“The best-laid of plans of mice and men,” he snarled, “crumble in front of gods. Witness the return of your rightful master, my Paheli!”

The boy was battered and bruised, but with Ahmad’s shadow falling on him, Amari roused up enough energy to contort his lips into a sneer.

“Goody Two-shoes,” he seethed. “Such a Mirza!”

“What do you mean by that?” Ahmad asked.

“From my experience, people like you don’t know when to give up and stop the encouraging speeches,” the Architect replied. “You’re living up to your name.”

A minute ago, Ahmad would have stepped back and crossed his arms. Maybe he would let his sharp tongue get the best of him and blurt out something snarky. But now, he met the Architect’s gaze steadily, extending his hand toward the other boy.

“Yes. I am a Mirza. Mirzas don’t quit. I thought you didn’t either.”

The Architect looked at his hand for a long moment. Ahmad didn’t move.