The room was too bright.
Not harsh—just clinical. Clean in a way that made everything feel temporary.
Artem sat in a chair that was slightly too stiff, staring at nothing in particular. His pulse still hadn't settled. It sat somewhere high in his chest, like it hadn't gotten the message that they were no longer in the square.
Across from him, Iyan stood near the wall, already still again. Composed. Like nothing had happened.
Jessica closed the door behind them.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then—
"Well," she said, exhaling. "That little stunt got both of you ordered removed as soon as possible."
Artem dropped his head into his hands.
"Oh, God."
His voice came out muffled.
"I told you I was fine. I was fine."
Iyan didn't respond.
Jessica crossed the room, setting a folder down on the table.
"You're not fine," she said evenly. "You just didn't have documentation."
Artem looked up, incredulous.
"So the solution was to create a public incident in the middle of Moscow?"
"Yes," Iyan said.
Artem stared at him.
"You didn't even hesitate."
A beat.
"I did," Iyan replied.
Artem blinked.
"That was you hesitating?"
Jessica cut in.
"Focus. We don't have a lot of time."
Artem leaned back in his chair, dragging a hand over his face.
"Okay. Fine. What happens now?"
Jessica opened the folder.
"Now we move quickly. You've been flagged. That gives us a credible basis to act."
"Act how?" Artem asked.
"For extraction," she said. "You'll be processed for asylum. We'll arrange transport out of the country under consular supervision."
Artem stared at her.
"...Wait. That's it?"
"That's not 'it,'" she said. "That's everything we didn't have an hour ago."
He let that sit.
Then:
"So I'm leaving."
"Yes."
The word landed.
"And going where?"
"San Francisco."
A breath left him—half laugh, half disbelief.
"Of course it is."
A beat.
He glanced sideways at Iyan.
"Oh God... I'm stuck with him forever?"
Jessica didn't look up.
"Just for the flight."
Iyan said nothing.
Artem watched him for a second.
"That's reassuring."
Silence settled again.
Not tense.
Just real.
Artem stared at the table, fingers tapping once, then stopping.
"I didn't think it would actually..." He trailed off, searching. "...work."
"It worked," Jessica said.
He nodded slowly.
"Yeah."
A pause.
Then—
"Wait."
His head lifted.
"My mother."
Jessica's expression shifted—just slightly.
"We can notify—"
"No," Artem said quickly. "I need to see her."
The room stilled.
Jessica hesitated.
"Given the timeline... that may not be possible."
"I'm not leaving without seeing her," Artem said.
Not loud.
But finally.
A beat stretched.
Then—
Iyan moved.
Not toward Artem. Not toward Jessica.
Just... away.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and was already unlocking it.
"I need to make a call," he said.
No explanation.
No emphasis.
Just a fact.
He stepped toward the far side of the room, turning slightly—not hiding, just... not including them.
Artem watched him, confusion cutting through everything else.
"...What does that mean?"
Jessica closed the folder.
"It means we're moving quickly," she said.
That was all.
Across the room, Iyan spoke quietly into the phone—too low to make out, too controlled to interrupt.
Artem leaned back slowly.
The adrenaline was fading now.
Draining out of him in uneven waves.
In its place—
Something heavier.
He stared at the floor.
The square replayed in fragments.
The looks.
The shift.
The officer is moving toward them.
He exhaled.
Long.
Unsteady.
Then, almost to himself:
"...I really wasn't fine."
Jessica didn't respond.
She didn't need to.
Across the room, Iyan ended the call.
Slipped the phone back into his pocket.
And for a moment—
just stood there.
Still.