Nil blinked.

And for the first time… for the very first time, his smile faltered.

Just for a second.

But Giovanni saw it.

Then, the apothecary’s smile returned, and Nil’s free wrist rose from the water, reaching for the back of the sheriff’s neck, his fingers sinking carefully into the man’s chestnut hair as he caressed him.

—Do you promise?

Giovanni tensed again. Nil could see it in his eyes, the struggle inside him. But Nil had no intention of pushing the game further, and for the first time, he wasn’t sure how the man would react.

The only thing that came to him was to try to bring him back to his senses, subtly. —Because…— The hand that had been caressing the sheriff’s nape slid gently down to his forearm, brushing deliciously past his neck, shoulder, and the length of his arm.

—You said this was for ‘pigs,’ didn’t you, Sheriff?

Giovanni’s shoulders stiffened and his teeth clenched. —Tell me, do you want to be an animal with me?

Then the sheriff understood. The man groaned as he got up from the stream. He looked back over his shoulder at Nil, who had sat up and remained in the water. Giovanni wondered if he should help him up.

But that would mean walking back together, and the sheriff didn’t want that. All he did was memorize the image before him as much as he could: a man slender at the waist, yet broad at the hips and thighs, with a lean abdomen and small shoulders, sprawled in the stream with his legs parted.

The white shirt clung to his body in a way that could not be divine creation, for it was nothing but infernal, vulgar temptation burning through the sheriff’s body.

His collarbone looked almost feminine, but it was his eyes that bewitched him. His black hair clung to his forehead, rebellious strands scattered across his face like dark branches framing his eyes, as though to contrast with the moonlight at night.

Because his eyes reminded him of the sky.

Giovanni finally gathered every bit of willpower left in him and walked away, heading home. Meanwhile, Nil let out the air his lungs had been holding with uncertainty.

For a moment, the apothecary swore the sheriff was going to lunge at him like a coyote at a hen. Only when he saw the sheriff vanish among the trees did Nil stand up and climb slowly out of the stream.

And then Nil realized he had made another mistake. He had been so sure that if he acted inappropriately with a devout Catholic, the sheriff wouldn’t want to see him again, that he would kick him out of town.

“It was the logical thing!”

But it hadn’t been like that. To the sheriff, Nil was a temptation.

Homosexuality wasn’t punished or condemned by the constitution, but it was certainly frowned upon. Nil reluctantly admitted that he hadn’t considered the small possibility that Giovanni might actually feel attracted to him.

Nil walked back to town calmly, giving his clothes time to dry enough so María wouldn’t start asking questions.

Meanwhile, his mind swarmed with doubts.

Could he leave town under the pretext that the righteous sheriff had threatened to strip him and possibly take him by force at the river?

If that were the case, would they believe him? In the worst case, Giovanni might end up facing trial, but Nil would have to testify, and the last thing he wanted was more eyes on him!

In the best case, no one would believe Nil, Giovanni would remain ‘unpunished,’ and the rumors would spread like wildfire. If that happened, the townsfolk themselves would make his life impossible until he left of his own accord.

—Doesn’t sound so bad.

He muttered to himself as he walked.

But… would that be enough for the other sheriff to forget about him as a suspect? He wasn’t sure. Besides, nothing guaranteed he wouldn’t now have both sheriffs after him—one out of spite, and the other for duty.

And just out of curiosity, he wondered if he could turn Sheriff Giovanni to his side.

What if he clouded his judgment with sweet words? It wouldn’t be the first time he had to speak softly to someone to make them drop their guard.

A couple of smiles, glances, touches… a kiss if necessary, and before they knew it, they’d bare their throats, that moment when prey shows their belly like trained dogs—perfect for stabbing them.

Then he thought better of it.

If he seduced Giovanni, he could turn him into his lapdog. He could look into the information they had on him. If he played his cards right, he might even make him get rid of Roberto.

Didn’t sound bad.

Didn’t sound bad at all.

Night draped the countryside in a dark, serene mantle when Giovanni finally reached his little ranch.

The dirt path was damp with dew, and the sound of crickets and frogs accompanied his steps. His boots were still heavy with water, his shirt still clung uncomfortably to his back. But that wasn’t what unsettled him.

It was the feel of Nil’s hands on his skin.

His smile.

His damned voice in his ear.

Giovanni shook his head as if he could cast those thoughts away. No. He wasn’t going to think about that.

As he neared the property, the dogs lifted their heads from the porch but didn’t bark. They knew him.

—Good night, boys —he grunted, rubbing a tired hand over his face.

The house was simple, adobe and wood, with a tiled roof that creaked with the wind. To the side, the corral held a few horses, some cows, and chickens that slept peacefully, cared for by the ranch hands during his absence.

From the stable came the low neigh of one of the horses. Probably someone had sensed his arrival.

He let out a sigh and climbed the porch steps. The old wood groaned under his weight.

The door gave way with a familiar creak.

The inside was dark, silent. Everything was in its place, as always.

His hat landed on the kitchen table with a dull thud. His body was still tense.

Giovanni yanked off his damp shirt and tossed it over the back of a chair. He walked to the water jug on the table, poured himself a glass, and downed it in one go, as if that could soothe the burning sensation in his skin.

As if that could erase the image of Nil in the stream.

But the bastard was still there.

In his head.

Giovanni clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. He had let himself slip for a second and said something he shouldn’t have.

This had to end.

One way or another.

But things weren’t letting up.

As the weeks went by, the touches disappeared. Nil no longer brushed against him shamelessly, no longer seized every chance to graze his skin with the slightest excuse.

But the looks…

The looks had grown more intense.

And this time, Giovanni found himself searching for them too.

Not on purpose. At least, that’s what he told himself.

But his gaze drifted on its own.

Sometimes, walking through the square, his eyes fell on the apothecary shop, where Nil would lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching people go by.

Sometimes, in the cantina, in the dim light of the oil lamps, Giovanni would catch him at a distant table, glass in hand, eyes fixed on him.

But the worst was when Nil looked at him before he noticed.

Before the incident at the stream, Giovanni always knew when Nil was watching—because he did it blatantly, like he wanted to get caught, like he wanted to provoke him.

But now…

Now Nil was subtle.

His gaze would vanish into the crowd, his expression unreadable, but Giovanni felt when it was there.

There were moments when, lifting his eyes, he would find Nil’s among the throng.

And the worst of all…

The worst of all was that Nil didn’t look away first.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile.

He just looked.

Long.

Deep.

As if waiting for something.

And damn it all, Giovanni didn’t know if he wanted to give him what he was waiting for or smash his face with a punch.

The apothecary shop smelled of dried herbs and alcohol, a scent Nil now associated with the calm of that place.

The afternoon passed slowly and peacefully, broken only by the scratch of María’s pencil against paper as she took notes.

The last few days had been relatively quiet for Doctor Salvador. The patients who came in had only fevers, small cuts, or colds—nothing he couldn’t handle with ease.

That gave María time to practice her lessons.

—Am I doing it right? —she asked, focused, as she stitched up a “wound” on a chicken breast.

Nil watched her work, leaning over the table with his arms crossed.

—I’d make the stitches closer together —he said in a relaxed tone—. If they’re too far apart, the skin could open before it heals properly.

María clicked her tongue and frowned.

—Damn it, I’ll redo it.

Nil smiled, amused by her frustration.

—Relax. If the chicken complains, I’ll stitch it up myself.

María snorted a laugh but didn’t look up from her practice.

—Thanks for teaching me, Nil. I learn more from you than from my dad.

—It’s not that he teaches badly. He just doesn’t have patience.

—Uh-huh. Or maybe you explain better.

Nil raised his hands with a sly grin.

—Well, I’m not about to argue if you’re giving me a compliment.

María smiled, but then her expression shifted, as if something had crossed her mind.

Nil noticed the way she bit the inside of her cheek, hesitating to speak.

And then she dropped the bomb.

—Did you fight with my cousin?

Nil blinked.

—Giovanni?

—No, my other cousin, the priest. —María gave him a look of mockery—. Of course Giovanni.

Nil slowly straightened and placed a hand on the table.

—Why do you say that?

María wrinkled her nose, carefully threading another needle.

—I don’t know… It’s just that lately, the two of you are strange. Before, you were always bickering. Now you barely look at each other.

Nil feigned a thoughtful expression.

—Maybe he just got tired of scolding me.

—Ha. Ha. You’re not that lucky. —María rolled her eyes—. It’s different. Like… I don’t know. Like you’re avoiding something.

Nil propped his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his hand.

—You think so?

María narrowed her eyes.

—I think something happened. And you don’t want to tell me.

Nil smiled.

Because María was clever.

But not clever enough.

So, with all the calm in the world, he lowered his gaze to the chicken breast and murmured casually:

—What if you’re just imagining things?

María didn’t answer right away.

But Nil could feel her eyes on him.

Analyzing him.

Trying to figure out if there was more behind his words.

But in the end, she just sighed.

—Maybe… —she murmured—. But still, be careful.

Nil arched a brow.

—Careful? Of what?

María went back to stitching.

—I don’t know. Whatever it is that’s happening between you two.

Nil smirked to the side.

Because if she knew the truth…

She’d be surprised at just how right she was.

The afternoon sun spilled over Arcelia, painting the dusty streets in golden tones and long shadows.

The central plaza was as lively as ever, with children running barefoot, women chatting at the fountain, and the distant sound of a badly tuned violin drifting out of the cantina.

But peace shattered in an instant.

—You damn traitor!

—Cut the bullshit! I didn’t do anything!

The commotion erupted outside the cantina, where two men were about to throw punches.

One of them, drunk and red-faced with fury, pointed a finger at the other—a man with a distressed face and trembling voice, trying to explain the inexplicable.

—I swear to you, compadre! I didn’t touch your wife!

—Oh yeah? Then what the hell was your hat doing in my house?!

The shouting caught everyone’s attention.

And, of course, that of the officers of Arcelia.

Giovanni arrived first, frown deep, patience hanging by a thread.

Rafael came behind him, arms crossed, watching with his usual air of annoyance.

It was Noé who tried to calm things down. Mistake.

Noé raised his hands, trying to placate them.

—Come on, boys, there’s no need to—

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Because at that exact moment, the drunk swung a punch.

Not at him. At the other man.

But the blow missed.

In his desperation to dodge it, the accused stumbled backward, accidentally shoving another patron just stepping out of the cantina with a mug of pulque in his hand.

The man, balanced like a mule on skates, crashed straight into Noé.

—What the hell—?!

Noé didn’t have time to react.

The impact knocked him backward. His foot caught on the edge of a bench.

And he fell.

Flat on his back.

With the weight of a full-grown man crashing down on him.

A sharp crack sounded.

And then, the cry.

—Shit!

Giovanni snapped his head around immediately.

Noé was sprawled on the ground, teeth clenched, face twisted in pain.

The other man staggered to his feet, mumbling incoherent apologies.

But Giovanni had no patience.

—Get the hell out of the way, bastard!

He shoved the man aside and crouched down at once.

—Agh, damn it! My shoulder! —Noé’s arm was pinned tight to his body, hanging at an unnatural angle.

—You dislocated it —Giovanni growled, rubbing a hand over his face—. Let’s go to the doctor.

—But —Noé clutched his shoulder in pain— what about the fight?

But before he could do anything, a calm voice intervened.

—Take Noé, Giovanni. Rafael and I will handle this.

It was Father Esteban.

The priest, calm in demeanor but carrying undeniable authority, stepped between the men.

Rafael, arms still crossed, nodded with reluctant agreement.

—Yeah, take him. I’ll throw these two in the cell and the Father can make them pray till their stupidity wears off.

Giovanni didn’t argue.

He rubbed the back of his neck, shot the culprits a murderous glare, and turned to Noé.

—Come on.

Noé, his face tight with pain, exhaled hard and nodded. They hadn’t reached the door when María spotted them.

—What happened?

—He busted his shoulder —Giovanni snapped bluntly.

María frowned, eyes filled with concern as she looked at Noé.

—Papa’s not here.

—What?

—He went out to attend a birth with the midwife. He won’t be back till tonight.

Noé cursed.

But then his expression shifted.

His eyes moved to Nil, who was checking jars on a shelf in the apothecary shop.

And then he said the phrase that sealed his fate:

—Nil. Can you set my shoulder back?

Noé had seen firsthand how he worked in San Bartolo and knew he was perfectly capable of fixing his arm.

Nil raised a brow and closed the jar in his hand.

—Of course.

Giovanni glanced at him sideways. He still wasn’t used to the idea of Nil being useful for anything other than driving him crazy.

Nil set the jar on the table and turned to María with a calm smile.

—Come here. I want you to learn how to do it.

María blinked.

—Me?

—Yes. I’ll guide you.