Code: Juleit

"Sir… what now?" Rosaline asked the moment I stepped out of Capulet's office, her brows furrowed with concern.

"We need to reopen the file" I said, my voice heavier than I intended. Without hesitation, she turned on her heels and made her way to the archive room.

I walked back to my cabin, shut the door behind me, and sank into my chair. My fingers pressed against my temples as I exhaled sharply. Nervous. Anxious. Confused.

I thought she was dead. I was sure of it. But no—she had been playing dead for three years.

I could still remember the news reports flashing across every channel. The headlines screamed about her murder, and the rumors of her death spread like wildfire. Her body had been found near the seashore—three bullets lodged in her skull.

And yet, here we were.

I had been a fool.

No one had ever truly seen her. It was obvious now—she had been living under different identities this whole time.

And this wasn't even the first note.

It was the third one this week.

At first, when I received the first message, I dismissed it as a cruel joke. Someone trying to mess with me. But then the second one came, and the so-called prank nearly cost Mercutio his life.

Now, this…

A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts. "Sir?" Rosaline's voice carried through the door.

"Come in" I said, straightening up.

She stepped in, holding a thick, weathered file in her hands. She placed it on my desk. 'Code: Juliet.'

"How's Mercutio?" I asked, taking the file from her.

"He's stable—for now" she said. "We've tightened security around him."

I let out a slow breath, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. "Good. You can go."

She nodded and left, shutting the door softly behind her.

I flipped open the file. Pages filled with darkness. Her crimes, her movements, her victims—it was all there. But I wasn't interested in that right now.

I went straight to the personal details—the ones we gathered when she was supposedly found dead.

Date of death : December 16, 2021.

Almost exactly one month after her parents died.

Her real name? Unknown.

She never used it. She called herself Juliet because she was obsessed with Shakespeare.

A dry laugh escaped me as I read the next detail—whenever she planned an attack, she warned her victims beforehand by sending them a Shakespearean quote.

"Silly" I muttered. Yet, I couldn't ignore the calculated brilliance behind it.

I kept reading. My eyes scanned over the lines, my mind trying to make sense of everything.

And then—I saw it.

My breath hitched.

How did I miss this before?

The date. November 19, 2021.

The day her parents died.

My hands tightened around the file. My pulse pounded in my ears.

Was my accident connected to their deaths?