Three AM and I'm still staring at my laptop screen.
Witness Security Program. WITSEC. New identity. New location. Complete erasure.
I should call Nathan. My head of security could have real answers in an hour—contacts at the Bureau, threat assessments, vulnerabilities in witness protection protocols.
Marcus just texted offering help and he has resources that make my security team look like mall cops.
But I don't reach for my phone.
Because calling them means admitting this is real.
It means pulling Elena's private crisis into my professional world before she's ready. Means making decisions about her safety without asking her first—exactly what Julian did four years ago.
So instead I'm doing amateur research like it'll somehow give me control over a situation that's already spiraling
