The sun bore down mercilessly on Arcelia, painting the streets in a dusty gold. The heat made the air shimmer above the red-tiled roofs, and the scent of hot earth mixed with freshly baked bread and ripe fruit from the market.

The streets were alive. Vendors shouted their deals, women gathered in small circles, chatting as they held wicker baskets filled with tortillas, chiles, and meat wrapped in butcher paper. Barefoot children darted around, their laughter bouncing off the whitewashed walls, while in a corner, an old man slowly sharpened a machete, watching the bustle of the people.

In front of the cantina, a tipsy drunk wobbled in the doorway, muttering who knows what, his hat crooked and his shirt half tucked into his pants. From inside, the notes of an off-key corrido escaped along with the clinking of glasses against wood.

Everything normal.

Giovanni walked through the plaza with a steady stride, hands on his belt, eyes forward. Doing his job.

Beside him, Noé was chattering about something unimportant. Giovanni nodded a couple of times out of habit, but his mind was elsewhere.

Because he felt it.

A stare.

Strong.

Fixed.

The kind of stare that makes you turn your head by pure instinct.

And there he was.

Nil.

Leaning against the wall of the clinic, arms behind his back and that damn smile on his lips.

But it wasn’t just any smile.

No.

It was his “I know something you don’t” smile.

His “I’ve got you right where I want you” smile.

His “you’re going to remember this later, sheriff” smile.

Giovanni felt a sting of irritation at the back of his neck.

Nil didn’t say a word. He just smiled.

Slowly.

Calmly.

But his eyes spoke. As if he were waiting for something. As if he already knew Giovanni was caught in his game.

Giovanni felt heat creep up his neck.

He clenched his jaw and quickly looked away.

Kept walking. But something was wrong. His chest rose and fell harder than usual. His body had reacted before his mind.

And the worst part...

The worst part...

Was that he knew Nil had noticed.

A scream tore through the bustle of the plaza.

—THIEF!

The air changed in an instant.

The crowd, which seconds earlier had been lost in daily routine, suddenly scattered, forming an improvised circle around the scene. An older man, panting and with clenched hands, furiously pointed at a man already fleeing through the market stalls.

Giovanni reacted without thinking.

The thief, a slim man with the agility of a stray cat, leapt over a table full of fruit, knocking over baskets and sending oranges rolling across the ground.

Giovanni was right behind him.

He jumped the same obstacle, barely dodging a screaming vendor, and dashed down the alley between the buildings. The thief’s boots echoed against the cobblestone, the sharp sound of the chase pounding through the hot air.

—Stop right there, you bastard! —Giovanni growled.

But the man showed no intention of obeying.

Blinded by panic and desperation, he didn’t notice he had run into a dead-end alley.

At the far end, he stopped abruptly, spun around— and pulled out a machete.

The blade flashed under the sun just before Giovanni had to halt.

—Don’t come any closer, damn dog! —the man spat, eyes wide with adrenaline. His breathing was ragged, sweat pouring down his face.

Giovanni didn’t flinch.

He’d seen it before. That kind of desperation in men who knew they had no way out.

But a cornered animal is dangerous.

The thief lunged with the machete raised, the blade slicing through the air.

Giovanni turned to the side just in time, but the edge grazed his chest, tearing through fabric and skin beneath.

He felt the immediate sting, a hot line of pain just below his collarbone.

He didn’t stop.

He couldn’t afford to.

The thief swung again, aiming to slash the sheriff once more. With a quick move, Giovanni dodged the machete, grabbed the wrist holding the weapon, and with his free arm, slammed his elbow into the man’s face— straight to the nose.

The machete fell to the ground with a metallic clatter.

The thief struggled, but Giovanni shoved him against the wall, pinning him with his weight.

—That’s enough. —The sheriff’s voice was low, threatening.

The man panted, eyes bulging. He tried to throw another punch, but Giovanni was faster and shoved him hard, pinning him against the adobe wall.

—Stay still, dammit! —he growled.

The sound of rushing footsteps signaled Noé’s arrival, pistol in hand and eyes alert.

—Sheriff!

—Relax. I’ve got him.

Only then did Giovanni ease up a bit. The wound on his chest throbbed intensely, but he forced himself to ignore it while Noé cuffed the thief’s hands.

The crowd began to gather again, their murmurs rising in volume.

Giovanni felt the blood slowly trickling down his chest, soaking the torn fabric of his shirt.

He was going to need that wound looked at. And for the love of all saints... he’d do whatever it took to make sure that person wasn’t Nil.

Because if that damn apothecary laid hands on him again...

He wasn’t sure how the night would end.

—Goddamn it.

Later. Giovanni clenched his jaw as he wiped a stiff, old rag over his wound, scrubbing away the dried blood with rough strokes. The coarse fabric scraped his skin, making it sting, but he had no intention of asking for help.

No.

If he went to the clinic, María would scold him and Doctor Salvador would make him stay longer than necessary.

And worst of all...

If Nil saw him injured, he’d want to put his hands on him.

So no.

He’d deal with it on his own.

Leaning against the cell bars, he kept watch over the thief he’d caught earlier that afternoon. The bastard was lying on the ground, arms folded behind his head like he was on vacation.

—Do you always treat your guests like this, Sheriff? —he asked mockingly.

Giovanni shot him a dry look and kept cleaning himself.

The sky outside had already turned a deep shade of blue. The sheriff’s station was quieter than usual, lit only by a couple of oil lamps and the distant flicker of candles on his desk.

And then, as if summoned by thought alone...

He appeared.

—You’re so stubborn, Sheriff.

Giovanni tensed instantly.

Nil was standing in the doorway to the cells, leaning against the frame with that typical smug smile. He was carrying a small leather case, the kind apothecaries used to store medicine and remedies.

—What the hell are you doing here? —Giovanni growled.

Nil walked in calmly, closing the door behind him.

—I’m here on María’s orders. She says stop being a mule and let someone patch you up properly.

—María?! How the hell did she even find out?

Nil looked at him as if the answer was obvious.

—Noé.

Giovanni snorted in frustration.

—It’s not necessary.

Nil clicked his tongue and set the case down on an old, beat-up table in the corner —probably a desk that had been replaced and dumped there instead of being thrown out.

—Let me guess... —He nodded toward the crumpled rag in Giovanni’s hand—. You were cleaning yourself with that?

—There’s nothing wrong with it.

Nil exhaled with exaggerated patience.

—No, of course not. I’m sure a filthy rag full of sweat, dirt, and who knows what else is exactly what a doctor from the capital would recommend. You should patent the method, Sheriff.

Giovanni shot him a glare that could kill.

Nil smiled, smug as ever, and began pulling out gauze and disinfectant.

—Come on. Take your shirt off.

Giovanni didn’t move.

They’d been through this once before.

And it hadn’t ended well.

Nil raised an eyebrow, tilting his head with that damn smile.

—What’s wrong? Want me to help?

Giovanni huffed in irritation and started unbuttoning his shirt.

The fabric brushing against his wound made him curse under his breath, but he forced himself to ignore it.

Nil stepped closer. Too close.

And that’s when he noticed the locket —he didn’t remember seeing it last time.

It hung from Giovanni’s neck, dangling from a time-worn chain, resting right against his chest. The metal, though old, still held a dull sheen. Nil narrowed his eyes, curious, and without asking permission, reached out to touch it.

—And this? —he murmured, gently turning the locket between his fingers—. Didn’t have you pegged as the jewelry type.

Giovanni stepped back instantly, muscles taut.

—Don’t touch it —he said. Fast. Serious. Almost aggressive.

Nil raised his eyebrows, and his smile curled in amusement.

—If you think I’m trying to steal it, don’t worry. I don’t have that bad of a taste.

Giovanni scowled.

—It’s the last thing I have from my mother —he replied, his voice hard enough to knock the wind out of the room.

The silence that followed was abrupt and dry. The mockery vanished from Nil’s face instantly, like someone had switched off the light inside him. He looked down at the locket, then back up at Giovanni’s face.

His expression changed. It was no longer smug or teasing. It was something else. More guarded. More... fractured.

—Ah —he said, almost a breath—. I’ll move it aside. It’ll get blood on it otherwise.

With care, with a gentleness he rarely showed, he slid his fingers along the chain and moved it slightly out of the way, off the wound. He didn’t yank it, didn’t inspect it further. Just moved it respectfully, as if afraid he might damage it by touching it.

After that, Nil remained still for a second. And though he said nothing more, his eyes had lost that spark of mockery that always defined him.

Only then did he go back to his task, opening the bottle of disinfectant with hands that now seemed heavier.

—This is going to sting —he murmured, trying to sound like nothing had happened.

The apothecary’s fingers were firm and precise, but there was no rush in his movements. He soaked a piece of gauze in disinfectant and gently pressed it against the wound.

Giovanni tensed instantly.

Not because it hurt.

But because Nil touched him with too much calm, with the confidence of someone who already knew his skin.

And that was dangerous.

Nil smiled as he felt his body go rigid.

—Does it hurt?

His voice was low. Almost intimate.

Giovanni narrowed his eyes.

—No.

But it didn’t sound very convincing.

Nil smiled wider and kept cleaning slowly, making sure every touch of his fingers was deliberate.

—You know... —he murmured while tracing the wound—. In San Bartolo, they asked me to stay.

Giovanni didn’t reply.

Nil tilted his head slightly, watching him.

—But I decided to come back here.

Giovanni’s eyes flicked quickly to Nil’s.

The apothecary kept working as if he hadn’t said anything important.

—And what of it? —Giovanni growled.

Nil shrugged, feigning indifference.

—Nothing. Just thought you’d want to know.

His hand, still on Giovanni’s chest, pressed a little harder.

Just enough for the sheriff to feel every inch of his touch.

Giovanni gritted his teeth.

Nil slid his palm down Giovanni’s chest to his navel, then pulled it back slowly and gave him one last look before turning to pack up his things.

—You done? —Giovanni snapped, throwing his shirt on like he wanted to erase what had just happened.

Nil smirked sideways.

—For now.

The sheriff shot him a glare, but Nil simply adjusted the case with the same exasperating calm as always.

Before leaving, he gave him one last sidelong glance.

—Sleep well, Giovanni. Don’t dream about me.

And he left.

Bastard.

And damn his filthy, inappropriate attitude too.

Giovanni took a deep breath to calm his irritation.

But then...

From the cell, the thief let out a low chuckle.

—Not trying to rub salt in the wound, but...

Giovanni slowly turned his head, his stare sharp with warning.

The prisoner grinned slyly, leaning against the bars and twirling the end of his mustache with one finger.

—That guy totally wants to fuck you, Sheriff.

Silence.

—...You know what I’m talking about, right?

Giovanni saw red.

Without a word, he kicked the bars hard.

The impact echoed through the station, making the prisoner jump.

—SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH!

The thief raised his hands in mock surrender, but the grin stayed on his face.

Giovanni turned with fury and stormed out of the cellblock, muttering curses under his breath as he headed back to his office.

If Nil kept up with this little game, sooner or later Giovanni was going to lose his patience.

And that was exactly what worried him the most.