I sign my signature at the bottom of the page as Scott returns with a cup of coffee and places it at the edge of my testimony.

Truth be told, I was sick to my stomach, and didn't want to put anything, let alone coffee, in it. I just wanted some space as I essentially signed my life away.

"All done," I push the paper towards him, wrapping my hands around the steaming mug, happy for the little bit of warmth it sent through my cold fingers.

Scott picks up the paper and leans back in his chair, his green eyes scanning over my handwriting as a silence falls over us.

Rather than watch him read, I decide to look around the office, noticing bulletin boards with MISSING and WANTED posters, the solemn faces of men, woman and children staring blankly at me, desks that are all empty, and immaculately clean, and a glass office at the very back of the room, the blinds drawn shut and the only indication of what that room is for is the plate on the door that reads: Executive Assistant Director for Criminal, Cyber, Response and Services Branch, and under it, another plate, that is probably changed out for every new Executive Assistant Director, that says Avriel B. Kaplan.

I was curious about the men and woman who filled theses desks during the weekdays; who they were, what kind of lives they lived, what inspired them to devote their lives to the FBI. It takes a certain type of person to devote yourself, not to just fighting crime, but going through all the training to become a federal agent. There had to be some sort of driving force behind it. I look over at Scott, my testimony blocking his face, and wonder how he ended up Agent Hoying.

The crinkle of paper breaks my thoughts as Scott puts the testimony down on his desk.

"Looks good," He says quietly, nodding his head. I don't know how to respond, so I just force a tight smile.

"So what now?"

Scott's eyes study my face, and unsure of his scrutiny, I duck my gaze to the plastic-looking, wooden desktop.

"Look, I'm not going to lie," I look back to him, his forearms now resting on his desk as he leans forward in his chair–this time, he's looking down at his keyboard.

"It's going to be a long process, especially since they already know who you are." Scott looks up, his gaze meeting mine for a moment, and I notice the contrast of blues in his eyes, how with each blink, his lashes direct my gaze to the freckles that decorate his cheeks, starting across his nose and disappearing underneath his blonde five o'clock shadow.

"Usually, a witness's identity is kept secret until the trial, so we keep an agent stationed at their house and work if we believe there's a threat. But obviously, we're way past that point with you."

Obviously.

His eyes lift up to meet mine, and he holds my gaze as he sits up straight in his chair.

"With your case, we're going to have to be with you twenty-four, seven. They made an attempt on your life today, and there's not a doubt in my mind that they'll try again. The best thing, at this point, is to get you into a safe house and go from there."

I don't move, don't even blink, as the words leave his lips. I'm not entirely sure if I'm breathing.

"Safe house." The words escape in a breath.

Scott's fingers tap against the desk as he leans back in his chair.

"Yeah. It's an unmarked–"

"I know what it is." I hold my hand up, stopping him, and my lowered gaze catches as his hand hovers off the desk in a mock surrender.

I lean forward in my chair, my fingers leaving the coffee mug and resting on the edge of the desk.

"What about my work? And family?" I look at him, and his eyes avoid mine. "What am I suppose to tell them?" My voice drops and I feel warm tears form in my eyes.

Scott takes a deep breath and finally looks up at me.

"We can work with your supervisors to arrange for you to work remotely, and as for your family, I highly doubt that they would be in any danger. Are they from around here?"

I shake my head, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

"N-no. They live a few states over." Scott nods.

"Even better."

A silence falls between us, and the distinct sound of an elevator arriving draws my attention away from Scott.

A younger gentleman walks into the room, a black beanie over his dark hair, a gray hunting jacket over a dark blue sweater and jeans that looked as old as me. His round face was covered in a dark beard, and he looked less like an agent than Scott did.

If it wasn't for the way he held himself; shoulders rolled back, chin up, and a defining step that comes with knowing you own the place, I would have thought he had walked into the wrong building.

"Mitchell," Scott stands from his chair, and I follow suit, though much slower. "This is E.A.D. Avi Kaplan." He introduces you.

Avi reaches the two of us and offers a warm smile and his hand.

"Mitchell Grassi." My voice is as weak as my handshake.

"How's about we hop into my office and we'll talk." Avi motions his head to the office I had been looking at earlier. I take a deep breath and nod, and Avi walks away, leaving Scott and I to follow behind.

With quick movements, Avi unlocks his office, flipping the light switch on as he walks in before stepping behind his desk and plopping down in his chair.

I hesitate in the doorway, my eyes taking in the file-filled desk, the older looking P.C. and a gold nameplate that reads the same as the one on the door.

"You can go in," Scott whispers in my ear, his warm breath tickling my skin as I jump at his proximity.

I glance over my shoulder, having to tilt my head up to find his gaze. He stares down at me, probably wondering why I'm not moving, and I look away from him and walk myself to the red, pleather-backed chair and sink myself down.

I hear Scott follow in behind me, but he doesn't fill the empty seat on my right, and instead stays somewhere behind me and out of sight.

"How are you feeling?" Avi stares at me from across the desk. He's relaxed, leaning back as one hand rests against his jaw, and I wonder how many times he's had a conversation like this before.

Terrified. Sick to my stomach. Want to scream until my lungs collapse.

"I've been better."

Avi nods, his hand falling away from his face as he sits forward and leans over his desk, his fingers locking together.

"First off, I want to tell you that what you're about to do is going to put a lot of bad people away." He looks at me firmly, like he's really trying to drive the point home to me. "The men who are behind the murder you witnessed have been destroying lives for years, and you're about to put an end to it."

I just nod, appreciating the heroic tale he's spinning, but knowing that all three of us were aware that I had turned down the chance to be a hero weeks ago, and at this point it was just trying not to get myself killed.

"Since you've agreed to be our witness, your safety is our utmost importance. From this point forward, you will be under constant supervision until we believe you are no longer at risk." Avi says matter-of-factly.

"And when will that be?" I ask quietly.

Avi takes a deep breath and looks behind me, his lips in a hard line.

I glance over your shoulder; Scott is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed against his chest and feet crossed at his ankles.

He looks down at me as I look up at him.

"That's hard to say." Avi responds from behind me, and I can hear the scratching of his beard.

I start to turn in my seat when Scott's gruff voice stops me.

"Tomorrow we'll be executing a warrant and officially launching an investigation against Shelton and his crew. The DA will want to fast-track the case, but even then," His eyes lock with mine. "It could be months before the trial starts." His voice trails off, his eyes never leaving mine.

"Months." I breathe.

"And that's if we can determine if the threat to your life has been neutralized once the trial is over." Avi interrupts, and I break your gaze from Scott and spin in my seat.

"Otherwise," Avi looks down at his desk. "We will have to talk about something more...permanent."

"Jesus christ," I hiss through my teeth.

I got it; witnessing a murder was life changing, but god damn, I never thought it would mean giving up my life completely.

What about my family? And my friends? What would I tell them? Would I even be able to tell them Would I ever get to see them again

Heat rushes to your cheeks as my ears begin to ring, drowning out everything around me.

"The best thing right now would be to take this one step at a time and see how things play out." Avi's voice slowly comes back into focus and brings me away from my thoughts. I look up at him, not realizing my gaze had fallen to the floor.

"And right now," Avi's hand slightly lifts off the desk, pointing behind me. "Scott will escort you back to your apartment and help you pack." My head turns halfway behind me, catching Scott on the outskirts of my peripherals and he uncrosses his body and stands up straighter, papers that he had been leaning against crinkling with the change of his weight.

"Take what you need now, and we'll have a team pack up the rest. It's important that we get you to the safe house sooner rather than later now that an attempt has been made on your life." Avi directs, all business in his tone.

"Scott will stay with you at the safe house tonight, and starting tomorrow, we'll have a team set up that will arrive to protect you from this point forward."
I just nod, having nothing left in me.

All I had now was some FBI agents and the hope that I would make it out of this alive, and some time, some day, my life would find its way back to normal.