Two weeks later, I was finally medically classified as:
Mostly Alive.
Apparently surviving:
- hypothermia,
- international pursuit,
- river impact trauma,
- and prolonged exposure to Aries
had been "stressful on the body."
Personally, I felt that the assessment lacked emotional nuance.
The safehouse outside Tel Aviv was beautiful in a deeply unsettling way.
Everything was white.
Minimalist.
Expensive.
There were hidden weapons in at least three decorative objects.
One of the throw pillows contained a handgun.
I found that out by accident during a breakdown.
At this point, however, I had stopped asking questions.
The Mossad doctors had apparently decided my recovery treatment required:
- vitamins,
- sleep,
- hydration,
- and being monitored constantly by terrifyingly attractive operatives.
One woman named Nova checked my pulse while disassembling a rifle.
Honestly, it did not help my anxiety.
By the end of the second week, I could finally walk without looking spiritually haunted.
Emotionally?
Different story.
Aries stood beside me outside the terminal entrance at Ben Gurion Airport just before sunrise.
He looked exactly like he always did:
- calm,
- dangerous,
- emotionally constipated,
- and unfairly handsome.
Meanwhile, I looked like someone who had recently survived several diplomatic incidents.
Which, technically, I had.
A black SUV idled nearby.
Somewhere behind us, Nova smoked a cigarette while watching the parking lot like she expected war to personally arrive.
I adjusted the strap of my bag.
"So this is it."
Aries nodded once.
"For now."
"Oh my God," I muttered. "That's such a spy thing to say."
A silence settled between us.
Warm wind moved softly through the palm trees.
For a brief second, everything almost felt normal.
Then I remembered that nothing about our relationship had ever been normal.
I folded my arms.
"So let me get this straight."
Aries looked resigned already.
"You lied to me for two years."
"Yes."
"You exploded our apartment."
"Technically, that wasn't me."
"You tranquilized me."
"You were hysterical."
"I was HAVING EMOTIONS."
"You were screaming at a missile."
"AS ONE DOES."
Aries looked like he wanted to argue but lacked the emotional stamina.
I pointed at him dramatically.
"And furthermore, you almost got me killed no fewer than fourteen times."
"It wasn't fourteen."
"I'm counting the river."
"That barely counts."
"THE RIVER ABSOLUTELY COUNTS."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Which honestly made me angrier.
"You know," I muttered, "most people just cheat."
"Pisces."
"No, seriously. Most relationships end with, like, texting another guy. Not tactical extractions through Eastern Europe."
Aries stepped closer slowly.
The expression on his face shifted.
Softer now.
More dangerous somehow.
"This is for your safety."
"Yeah, whatever, dude."
"I mean it."
"You literally dragged me through a frozen forest while people shot at us."
"I kept you alive."
"Debatable."
Another pause.
Then Aries reached into his coat and pulled out something small.
My breath caught.
It was my cashmere jacket.
Cleaned.
Folded neatly.
I stared at it in shock.
"...You recovered the jacket?"
"You were upset."
"That is psychotic behavior."
"You loved this jacket."
I took it slowly.
Honestly?
I could've forgiven several international crimes right there.
Aries watched me carefully.
Then quietly:
"I love you."
Silence.
Complete silence.
Even the traffic noise seemed to disappear for a second.
I stared at him.
"...What?"
His expression remained perfectly serious.
"I love you."
I blinked.
"You literally say that NOW?"
"I thought you should know."
"After the kidnapping?"
"Yes."
"The explosions?"
"Yes."
"The tranquilizer dart?"
"That was operational."
"Oh my GOD."
I pressed a hand dramatically against my forehead.
"You cannot confess love like a war criminal."
Aries actually laughed softly.
Which felt unfairly intimate.
Then he stepped closer and kissed me once—gentle, brief, devastating.
When he pulled away, my entire nervous system filed for bankruptcy.
"You'll be watched for a while," he said quietly.
"That is somehow the least upsetting thing you've told me."
"If anyone contacts you—"
"I know. Call the terrifying government people."
Nova lifted her cigarette from the SUV in acknowledgment.
Honestly, she scared me more than the Russians.
Aries looked at me one last time.
Then stepped back.
And just like that, the spy disappeared emotionally again.
"Wow," I muttered. "There he goes. Dissociating professionally."
Then I turned and walked into the airport.
Immediately, my suffering resumed.
The first security officer looked at my passport.
Then at me.
Then at the passport again.
"...You've traveled recently."
I stared at him blankly.
"You think?"
Within twenty minutes:
- my bag had been searched three times,
- my shoes had been scanned twice,
- someone had swabbed my laptop for explosives,
- and a very polite woman named Yael had somehow psychologically interrogated me using only eye contact and hydration.
"Why were you in Russia?"
"Emotionally? Terrible choices."
"Purpose of travel?"
"I genuinely don't know anymore."
"Who packed your bag?"
"Technically several intelligence operatives."
Yael paused mid-typing.
"...Excuse me?"
"I am SO fucking done with international travel."
By the time I reached my gate, I looked spiritually evacuated.
I collapsed into a chair clutching an overpriced airport coffee and my recovered cashmere jacket.
Outside the massive windows, planes rolled slowly across the runway beneath the sunrise.
My phone buzzed once.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
I stared at it for a long moment.
Then opened the message.
Don't trust anyone from Zurich.
— Aries
I closed my eyes slowly.
"Oh my God," I whispered to absolutely nobody.
Then I boarded the plane anyway.