Nil turned to her.

—Hold his arm like this. And pass me the blanket when I tell you.

María obeyed without further questions.

The room fell silent. Only the ragged breathing of the wounded man and the soft clinking of metal against glass could be heard as Nil placed the syringe on a tray. His movements were precise, almost automatic. As if every step had already been etched into his memory.

María held the patient’s arm firmly, holding her breath each time Nil leaned over the body. The clean blanket rested in her arms, ready to cover the man once he was done.

—It’s going to hurt —Nil warned, more for her than for the unconscious man.

He took the long needle, already disinfected, and carefully positioned it right where he had felt the swelling. His hand didn’t tremble. He inserted the metal slowly, until he felt the slight resistance give way. María watched as the dark, thick blood began to flow into the syringe.

Nil emptied the contents into a jar, reloaded, and repeated the process. Twice. Three times. Each time, he watched the wounded man’s muscles, the involuntary spasms, the color of his skin. When the pressure finally dropped and the body relaxed slightly, he exhaled.

—Done —he murmured, more to himself.

He removed the needle, cleaned the area with the remaining alcohol, and covered the wound with a clean cloth, tying it skillfully. María offered the blanket without a word, and Nil placed it over the man’s chest, arranging it with a gentleness that contrasted with his usual aloofness.

Then he stood up, wiped his hands with an alcohol-soaked cloth, and began to collect what he had used. Silence fell again like a damp sheet. María could hardly believe what she had just witnessed.

—How? —María asked—. Are you a doctor?

Nil shook his head.

—When I was a child, a nun taught me how to treat wounds at the church. I have some experience, but I didn’t really study.

—And how did you know where the blood was?

Nil looked at her for a few seconds, hesitating, searching for the right words and structuring the best possible answer.

—I’ve picked up a few tricks from different doctors. When you travel, it’s inevitable.

María didn’t intend to stop her questions there, but Nil had no intention of answering them.

—Well, I think I’ve paid my debt. Time for me to leave.

—What!?

Nil walked out of the infirmary, and María ran after him.

Giovanni and Salvador stood up at once as they saw Nil heading for the exit with María chasing after him.

—I knew it! You killed him! —Salvador blurted out.

—No, Dad! He saved him!

Salvador was left stunned, mouth ajar and face distraught. Nil passed between the three of them as if nothing, without looking at anyone, heading straight for the front door.

—No, please. Wait —María said, blocking his path, opening her arms to keep Nil from slipping past her—. Stay.

Nil blinked, thrown off by the firmness in her voice.

—My father can’t handle these emergencies anymore. He can’t keep pretending he can. We need someone else... someone who knows how to react.

—You want me to stay as a doctor? Me? —Nil scoffed, almost amused—. I already told you I’m not a doctor.

—But you know enough. I’m not asking you to save everyone —María replied, stepping closer—. Just to be here... just in case.

—Look, I appreciate that you saved me. But I don’t like settling in one place, I need to go.

Nil looked at her, then shifted his gaze to Giovanni, waiting for him to say something, anything, so he could bolt. But the sheriff crossed his arms and observed him in silence, as if still assessing him.

<<Why is he in such a rush to leave?>> the sheriff wondered. If he was right, Nil’s wound wasn’t fully closed. Sure, he could walk and move easily now, but straining it could reopen it. And still, there he was, wanting to leave.

—Go on, tell him he has to stay! —María said, glaring at him.

—Me? Why me?

—Because between the two of you, you’re the one with authority! —María argued, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

—Respect your cousin, María. He’s the sheriff —Salvador chimed in with a tired voice, bringing a hand to his face, as if the weight of the years suddenly fell upon him.

—Exactly —she insisted, still staring at Nil—. You can’t anymore, Dad! Your hands tremble and you know it. That boy wouldn’t have survived today without him.

The old doctor lowered his gaze. He said nothing. That silence —so heavy, so human— was the confirmation no one asked for, but everyone understood.

Nil looked away, uncomfortable, as if unsure of what to do with his hands. His face remained half in shadow, but Giovanni noticed the slight change in his posture: his shoulders, once taut as wire, relaxed just a bit. A crack in that mask of indifference he wore so well.

Giovanni stepped forward. He didn’t like getting involved when he wasn’t sure about someone, and Nil was still an enigma. But there was something about him... something that made him stare longer than he should.

—If you leave with that wound as it is, you won’t get very far —he said calmly, crossing his arms—. And if you die on the road... well, that won’t be my problem anymore. But it’d be a stupid move, don’t you think?

Nil glanced at him, lips tight. He said nothing. But he didn’t contradict him either.

—Stay —Giovanni added, this time in a softer, almost quiet tone—. Until you’re fully healed. Then you decide what to do with your life.

Silence returned for a few seconds.

Nil exhaled sharply, lowering his head. He closed his eyes like he was summoning patience.

—Fine —he finally said—. But only until then.

María released the breath she had been holding, with a light smile she tried to hide.

—Thank you —she murmured, more to herself than to him.

Nil didn’t reply. But just before taking the first step back inside, he turned slightly and threw a sidelong glance at Giovanni. A spark flickered in his eyes, somewhere between mockery and challenge.

—I guess it’ll be interesting to stay... if only to see how you handle me, sheriff.

Giovanni frowned and clenched his jaw. That line... didn’t sound like a joke. It sounded like a warning. Or a promise.

—Come on, there’s a room available upstairs —María said, breaking the tension as she approached him gently—. For now, you can stay there.

She took his arm carefully, guiding him toward the infirmary stairs.

Giovanni stood still for a moment, watching them go up.

He sighed deeply, scratching the back of his neck in frustration.

What the hell am I getting myself into...?