BLOOD AND ASHES

EIGHT DAYS OF MERCY

The city of Ciudad de Sanvelis throbbed like a wounded heart in the hours after the bar erupted in blood.

Word of the chaos spread fast — a man dead, a van seized, police swarming. Yet beneath the noise, something darker stirred.

The phone recovered from the rough-bearded man buzzed with secrets even in death, its cracked screen blinking out coordinates and messages like a confession written in static.

The detectives followed the trail with merciless precision. Within hours, a second van was cornered near the East docks, its driver panicking under the glare of rifles.

The vehicle was pried open, the was cargo revealed — it was a load of cocaine heavy enough to send ripples through every level of the city’s underworld. Another artery of corruption had been severed.

But for Tobias Sheldon, none of it mattered. He was not listening when they spoke of seizures, not watching when officers congratulated themselves.

His mind was chained to two names — Elena, who had vanished into shadows, and Ethan, whose fragile lungs clung to life by a thread of oxygen.

Meanwhile, a few days later the room was small, suffocating, its fluorescent light buzzing overhead like a swarm of angry insects.

Tobias sat hunched, his wrists were no longer cuffed, but the weight of suspicion still pressed on his shoulders.

The detective leaned across the table, his voice was sharp as a blade. “You expect us to believe you know nothing about the men who were moving the cocaine? About the bar? About the van at the docks? Your wife's death?”

Tobias met his eyes, unflinching. “I don’t care about your vans. I don’t care about your seizures. My wife is gone. My son is dying. That’s all I know.”

“You fought like a man with something to hide.”

“No,” Tobias growled. “I fought like a man with nothing left to lose.”

The silence that followed was heavier than iron. The detectives scribbled their notes, but the truth was clear: there was nothing more to pin on him. The evidence was smoke, the accusations empty.

Reluctantly, they let him go.

When Tobias stepped into the corridor, the news struck like a lightning bolt: Ethan was stable, for now, given supplements. But the oxygen bag was nearly spent, a ticking clock on the boy’s frail body.

Now at the hospital, the sight of Ethan lying pale and fragile on the hospital bed carved Tobias open.

The boy’s lips were cracked, his breaths shallow whispers. Yet when Tobias sat beside him, Ethan’s eyes opened — wide, searching, innocent.

“You’re stronger than me, Ethan,” Tobias whispered, brushing hair from his son’s damp forehead. “Always stronger.”

The boy’s lips moved, his voice was no louder than a sigh. “Where’s Mama?”

The question tore Tobias apart. He couldn’t tell him the truth — that Elena was gone, her body missing, soul stolen by shadows. So he forced a lie, his voice trembling. “She’ll come back soon, my boy. She’s just… waiting for us.”

Ethan blinked, his tiny fists clenching. For a moment it seemed like he would cry, but instead he turned his face away, swallowing his pain like a man twice his age. Tobias’s heart broke anew.

The hum of the oxygen bag faltered. Then, suddenly, Ethan gasped. His chest convulsed, his small hands clutching the blanket as if the fabric could hold him to life.

“Help!” Tobias shouted, his voice cracking like glass. He leapt from his chair, pounding on the door. “Somebody help!”

The nurse on duty rushed in, panic was in her eyes. She darted out again, shouting down the hall for the oncologist.

Minutes later, the doctor strode in — a man of sharp features and colder eyes. He looked at Ethan, then at the failing oxygen bag, and his face hardened.

“Without payment for the refill,” he said flatly, “there is nothing we can do.”

Tobias’s vision went red. His fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. Every part of him screamed to break this man’s jaw, to make him feel a fraction of the pain ripping through Tobias’s chest. But he swallowed it — barely.

It was of no use. Harming the doctor could make the situation worse.

“Please,” he begged, his voice was raw. “I’ll find the money. I’ll do anything. Just keep him breathing.”

The doctor only shook his head, arms folded. “Hospital policy. No payment, no refill.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Sheldon,” the doctor said at last, his voice void of compassion.

The words snapped something inside Tobias.

His fist lashed out before reason could stop him. The punch cracked against the doctor’s jaw, sending him sprawling across the floor. Nurses screamed. Orderlies rushed forward. But Tobias was already back at his son’s side, tears streaking down his face.

“Stay with me, Ethan,” he begged. “Stay with me!”

He pressed his lips over his son’s, forcing air into fragile lungs, whispering prayers between desperate breaths. “You don’t leave me, not like this. Not like her. Please, God, not like this.”

The ward door creaked open.

A tall man entered, his silhouette cutting sharp against the pale hospital light. He wore a dark suit, his eyes were calm, too calm for the chaos in the room.

“Doctor,” the man said softly, his voice low but commanding. “I request an audience. Now.”

The doctor, still nursing his jaw, froze. His arrogance drained in an instant. Without a word, he followed the stranger out, leaving Tobias trembling beside his son.

Minutes bled like hours. Ethan’s gasps tore at Tobias’s soul. He rocked the boy gently, whispering broken promises.

Then the door burst open again. The doctor rushed back in, this time with urgency, pushing equipment before him. Nurses followed, arms full of supplies. The hiss of fresh oxygen filled the room as they refilled the bag, the line snaking back to Ethan’s fragile nose.

Color returned faintly to the boy’s cheeks. His chest rose steady once more. The crisis passed.

Tobias sat frozen, relief and confusion tangling in his chest. He watched as the doctor adjusted the flow, checked the monitors, and finally stepped back. His tone had shifted — careful now, almost deferential.

“A good Samaritan has paid for a refill,” the doctor said, his eyes lowered. “Eight days, Mr. Sheldon. Your son has eight more days.”

Eight days. Eight breaths of mercy carved out of the void.

Tobias staggered to his feet, staring at the doctor, the machines, the stranger’s shadow lingering in his mind. The world had turned against him in every way — and yet, here was a lifeline, gifted by unseen hands.

His voice was hoarse, trembling with disbelief, but the words came sharp as a knife.

“Where is this good Samaritan?” he asked the doctor.