The crowing of a rooster announced the morning in Arcelia. Some woke with the animal’s call, but not Sheriff Giovanni—he had the uncanny habit of arriving at the station right as the rooster sang.

Arcelia’s sheriff’s office was a simple yet sturdy building, made of adobe and wooden beams, topped with a red tile roof already worn by the relentless sun. It stood near the main square, a strategic point from which Giovanni and his men could keep an eye on the town's activity.

Inside, the thick adobe walls kept the air cool, and the scent of leather, gunpowder, and tobacco clung to the atmosphere.

The space was divided into three main areas:

Giovanni’s office: A solid dark wooden desk cluttered with disorganized papers, an inkwell, and an oil lamp. On the wall behind his chair hung an old map of the state and a well-kept rifle. A shelf held files of unresolved cases and a couple of bottles of mezcal for the harder nights.

The common area: A pair of chairs and a table where Noé and Rafael often played cards when there wasn’t much work. In one corner, a wooden bench was used for interrogations or to make detainees wait before being locked up.

The cells: Three small iron-barred cells, barely lit by a tiny window. They were just big enough to hold a loud drunk or an unlucky bandit caught on the road.

Outside stood a wooden post with a rope, used to tie up the officers’ horses. Out back, there was a small stable where the sheriff’s horses were trained, next to a modest storeroom that held a few shotguns, some ammunition, and rusty handcuffs.

Despite its humble appearance, the sheriff’s office was the heart of law and order in Arcelia, and Giovanni, with his stern character and sharp gaze, kept things in check with the help of Noé and Rafael.

Upon arriving at his office, he saw a stack of documents on his desk—most likely reports and complaints filed by Noé and Rafael. His job was simple: read them, solve the issue, and if necessary, follow up.

Before sitting in the uncomfortable wooden chair, Giovanni stretched lazily. His tall frame, nearly six foot three, hadn’t gotten much rest the night before. But he couldn’t afford to neglect his duties. In this job, reacting faster than the enemy was key. What would happen if Giovanni skipped a day, even just one? He didn’t want to find out.

Though, he admitted that the most intense things to happen in the town were usually the arguments between Doña Claudia and Eufemia, followed by drunkards’ brawls. Only then came the more unusual but occasional events like robberies, the kidnapping of a young lady for forced marriage, and of course, highway assaults.

Giovanni sat down in his chair and began the task of reviewing the complaints, organizing them based on their importance. While his main duty was to maintain order in town and enforce the law, he also had other responsibilities, such as keeping the state capital informed about the town’s situation. And although Giovanni usually managed to resolve conflicts before they escalated—

There was always the chance that things could slip out of his control. That’s why he kept such a close eye on Nil. A stranger with an unclear past could become a serious problem in a place this small. Especially because said stranger showed no signs of backing down.

Giovanni calmly flipped through the reports, separating the trivial ones from those that might require his direct involvement. Disputes between neighbors, fights at the cantina, missing livestock… the usual. But his attention stopped on a more recent document.

A robbery on the roads just outside Arcelia.

He frowned and read more carefully. According to the report, a coach had been intercepted by an armed gang, who stole the cargo but left the passengers unharmed—though terrified. It wasn’t unusual for bandits to roam the roads, but one detail in the description of the attackers made his hand tighten around the paper.

"The leader was of average height, confident posture, face covered… but what stood out the most were his eyes. He had colored eyes."

Nil’s eyes flashed through his mind.

A chill ran down Giovanni’s spine. He couldn’t be sure, but that simple mention was the excuse he needed to interrogate Nil—the perfect justification to ask the questions he had been holding back.

He folded the document carefully and placed it on his desk. Leaning back in his chair, he tapped his fingers on the wooden surface. Nil had arrived in town wounded, claiming he had been attacked on the road. Could he have been part of that robbery? Or worse… the leader?

He sighed and ran a hand down his face. He couldn’t jump to conclusions, but something inside him whispered that Nil wasn’t just a wandering apothecary. And if he was… then fate had one hell of a sense of humor.

He stood up, took the report, and left his office. He needed answers—and he was determined to get them.

As he opened the door to the common room, Noé and Rafael were already in their seats.

—We’ve got something. —said the sheriff before heading back into his office.

Immediately, the other officers rushed in and waited for Giovanni to share the details.

—A few days ago, a gang hit the roads outside town. According to this, no one was hurt, but the man who seemed to be the leader had colored eyes.

—That reminds me of when I found Nil on the way back. He also said he’d been attacked by bandits. Could it be related? —asked Noé, sitting in one of the chairs.

—What did he say when you asked him? —this time it was Rafael, looking directly at the sheriff.

—Not much. —he admitted, crossing his arms. —Or, better said, nothing at all.

Noé and Rafael exchanged glances — Back then he was more dead than alive. You didn’t question him afterward, did you? Want us to bring him in? — asked Rafael, turning his body toward the door.

Giovanni nodded — I’d like to, but I don’t have any evidence against him. The only thing I’ve got —and even that’s a stretch— is that both suspects have colored eyes.

—What color? — asked Noé.

Giovanni shook his head — It doesn’t specify.

Noé and Rafael sighed, understanding the problem. —Then you could bring him in under the excuse of asking more about the incident. Both could be related, and like it or not, Nil is the only witness we have.

Before the conversation could continue, blood began to drip from the sheriff’s nose. The crimson stood out against his tanned skin. Giovanni frowned as he felt the liquid running down. He wiped it with the back of his hand and saw the red smear spreading across his skin.

—Damn it, again? —he muttered.

—Sheriff, you’re bleeding! —Noé exclaimed, immediately jumping to his feet.

—It’s nothing. —Giovanni tried to brush it off, but his vision suddenly felt strangely blurry for a moment. —Must be the heat.

Noé and Rafael exchanged a worried look. He always said the same thing.

—When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep? —asked Rafael, arms crossed.

—I sleep enough.

—Ha, sure —Noé scoffed—. Enough for who? A dead man?

Giovanni huffed and grabbed a handkerchief from his desk, pressing it against his nose.

—Noé, go get Doctor Salvador. I don’t want him fainting in here and having to drag him to the clinic.

—It’s not that bad! —Giovanni protested, but Noé had already run out.

Rafael, still with arms crossed, looked at him with a deep frown.

—My mother says people who act stubborn about their health are usually the ones who don’t have someone at home to scold them.

Giovanni snorted.

—Tell your mother not to adopt me just yet.

—Please, if she were your mother too, she’d have smacked you with a sandal by now.

Before Giovanni could respond, hurried footsteps echoed at the entrance of the station.

—Where is that stubborn boy?! —the deep, authoritative voice of Doctor Salvador rang out before the door swung open.

Giovanni closed his eyes with resignation. —Right here.

The old man walked in with a frown and, without wasting time, grabbed Giovanni by the chin to examine his nose.

—Your mother would be worried if she saw you working yourself to death.

Giovanni tensed slightly.

—I’m fine, uncle.

—Sure, sure, you’re always fine, until one day you drop dead in the middle of the plaza —grumbled Salvador as he pulled out a clean handkerchief and began to assess the damage.

Noé and Rafael glanced at each other, trying not to laugh.

—It’s nothing serious yet, but you need rest. Listen to me, you stubborn mule, you’re not gonna die from taking an afternoon nap. Better yet, it’d do you good! Like rain in a drought! You push yourself too hard, boy.

—It’s my job.

—So what? You gonna protect the town from the grave? Once you're gone, they'll replace you, just like that! —his uncle snapped his fingers for emphasis.

Giovanni didn’t respond. He just pressed the handkerchief harder against his nose.

Doctor Salvador sighed and shook his head.

—When you said you didn’t want to be like your father, I didn’t think this was what you meant.

The air in the office grew thick in an instant. Giovanni froze, and Rafael and Noé noticed right away. The tension was the calm before the storm. Without saying a word, they stepped out of the office and quietly closed the door behind them, leaving the old doctor alone with the sheriff.

It wasn’t a secret in town that mentioning that man in front of Giovanni was like poking the devil. No one came out unscathed after saying his name like it meant nothing.

—I’m not like him. —Giovanni’s voice was more a warning than an answer.

But Salvador had brought him into this world with his own hands. To him, Giovanni was still a child, trapped in the body of a twenty-eight-year-old man. He wasn’t intimidated by what, in his eyes, was nothing more than a tantrum from a boy who didn’t know how to handle his anger.

—And what’s different? —the doctor barked.

His voice echoed through the room before he continued, relentless:

—Your father died because of this job… and you’re going to die for the job.

Giovanni felt something break inside. Rage clouded his vision.

He slammed his fists onto the desk.

—I’m not corrupt! —he roared—. And if I push myself this hard it’s because that bastard didn’t do his damn job in thirty years!

Doctor Salvador looked at him with pity. With a sigh, he picked up his bag and slowly walked toward the door.

—If your mother were here, she’d beg you to rest.

He paused for a moment, his hand on the doorknob.

—But I’m not your mother. So I’ll only ask once… Rest, son. You’re still young. Don’t shorten your life more than necessary.

And without another word, he left and closed the door behind him, leaving Giovanni alone.

Alone, like always.

Giovanni clenched his teeth, jaw tight. His chest rose and fell with intensity. He was trying to calm down.

But remembering Sergio Ramírez only made his blood boil.

Sergio had been the previous sheriff of Arcelia—and Giovanni’s late father. His mother, Elisa Solís, had been beaten to death by the very man who had sworn to love, protect, and cherish her before God.

The memories were vivid. Too vivid.

His mother’s screams still echoed in his head.

Sergio used to beat her for the most trivial reasons: because dinner wasn’t ready when he got home, because he claimed Elisa didn’t clean the house well enough, or simply because he felt like it. Sometimes, there wasn’t even a reason.

Giovanni also remembered the times she shielded him with her body, protecting him from the blows. Or when, as a boy, he’d go buy tortillas and see his father flirting shamelessly with other women right on the street, without an ounce of shame.

He remembered how Sergio would spend the dirty money he earned on alcohol, on women, on luxuries for himself.

Never for his family.

He and his mother went hungry, because Sergio never gave money for the house.

But what hurt the most… was the last time he heard his mother scream.

She screamed and screamed for help.

She cried out to the heavens, to her brother Salvador, to the neighbors.

And in the end, even to the devil himself.

Begging Sergio to stop.

Giovanni liked to believe it wasn’t the devil who answered, but God. Because He took her away.

He couldn’t do anything.

His mother had locked him in the bathroom to protect him.

And he couldn’t save her.

That’s what killed him.

He ended up living with his uncle Salvador and his cousin María. And through nepotism, he became sheriff at twenty-three.

Still, he found that he liked the job.

At first, people assumed he’d be another corrupt man in power, just like his father.

But he wasn’t.

He swore to himself he would never be the same kind of scum as Sergio Ramírez.

And clinging to that promise was the only thing that helped him calm down.

Carefully, he let himself fall back into the wooden chair. He rested his elbows on the table, head bowed, fists still clenched.

He was breathing hard.

It had taken him years to earn the town’s trust.

To show the same men who used to bribe his father that they wouldn’t be able to do the same with him.

He sighed. His body finally started to relax.

That’s how it was.

Thanks to his work and convictions, the worst things that happened in Arcelia were brawls between a couple of wayward old ladies.

And he wasn’t going to let anyone change that.

With renewed strength, he stood up, blew his nose, and tossed the used handkerchief aside.

Before leaving the office, he took a moment.

With steady hands, he opened the locket hanging from his neck—his most precious treasure.

Giovanni’s locket was an old piece of jewelry, small, but heavy with emotion.

Its exterior was made of silver, tarnished by the years, with delicate engravings of laurel leaves and tiny filigree bordering its oval shape. In the center, a bouquet of wild roses adorned the lid—each petal and leaf finely carved, as if someone had tried to capture the fragility of a real flower in metal.

When opened, the hinges let out a soft creak, revealing a tiny sepia photograph inside. The image of his mother, young and with a serene smile, looked back at him from the past. The glass protecting the photo bore subtle marks of time, but the kind gaze of the woman remained untouched.

On the inner lid, engraved by hand in firm handwriting, were the words she used to tell him as a child:

"Let justice never forget kindness."

It was a simple object, with no jewels or riches, but to Giovanni, it was worth more than any treasure in the world.

He always wore it hidden beneath his shirt, close to his heart.

Giovanni inhaled deeply, as if he could still catch her scent in the air—one he had almost forgotten.

Then he exhaled slowly.

—Mother, help me. Don’t let me stray from the path.

He closed the locket gently, and before hiding it under his shirt again, he pressed a quick kiss to the cold metal.

Then, he turned with a clear destination in mind.

The clinic.

This time, when he went to interrogate that apothecary, he wouldn’t be as friendly as last time.