That moment almost four years ago when I’d naively thought the idea of being a CIA spy was “interesting” was laughable compared to how I felt now. I loved my job. I no longer felt any guilt whatsoever about bribing people to provide me with information that could be treasonous on their part. I’d even patched things up with Evgeni Atanasov on a platonic level for the sake of the information I could glean from him. And as I was included in more and more risky activities, I funneled nervous energy into steely resolve.
I’d found what I was meant to do. It could be frustrating, it could be incredibly difficult, and sometimes I was so lonely and homesick that I wanted to cry. But when I was in action, there was nothing else in the world I’d rather be doing.
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