Avery stands still. She's been holding the gun for a long time, and her arms are aching despite its lightweight. Though Andrew is approaching her, she remains calm.

"If your heart is bad, you need medical help," she said calmly, "I can introduce you to an excellent doctor."

"Is it Charles Meyer?" Andrew asks with a meaningful and vicious look.

"Do you know him?"

"I know him very well," Andrew says.

Avery finds it odd that Andrew would know of Charles, but it's not entirely shocking. Charles is one of the best doctors in the world, but he's also intensely private and humble. A man like Andrew could easily find out about Charles, though.

"We're very close," Andrew says with a cruel smirk.

Avery stared at him blankly.

"We rely on each other," Andrew continues.

Avery continues to stare, wondering what he's talking about.

"We live and die together," Andrew says, "Believe it or not, if you shoot me in the heart, you will have many regrets."

"Andrew Clifford, I'm not interested in your riddles," Avery says, jabbing the gun into Andrew's chest, "I'm growing impatient."

"March 13th," Andrew says suddenly.

Avery is shocked. She looks at him, and the mole at the corner of his eyes suddenly seems malicious. She tries to understand the significance of that date. Then it hits her: on March 13th, she ran away from the Howels' house, and it was the last time she had contact with Charles Meyer.

She begins to hyperventilate as the horrible realization hits her. She looks at Andrew anxiously, hoping that something in his expression will reassure her. Instead, his appearance seems to confirm her worst fears.

"Did you have any contact with him after that date?" Andrew asks.

Avery's hand trembles slightly, and the pistol shakes in her grip. She realizes that March 13th was the last day she talked to Charles. Robert told her that Charles was taken back home and was disciplined strictly, but that story always sounded suspicious to her. For weeks, she had no news from him, and Gabrielle said she hadn't seen or heard from him either.

"Avery, Avery," Andrew calls.

Though she knows it's Andrew speaking, she hears Charles's voice as if it's an echo of Andrew's. She freezes on the spot.

"Avery, Avery," the voices call.

Avery shakes her head, trying to make Charles' voice disappear, but it sounds as clear as if he were standing right in front of her. She covers her ears with her hands, and the pistol falls onto the cobblestones. She doesn't want to hear Charles' voice in her mind. She wishes she could look up and see the man himself.

Suddenly, a big and strong hand grabs her tenderly. She feels Andrew's pulse through his palm. His heart is hammering at a frenetic pace.

"What do you feel?" Andrew asks, gently placing her hand over his heart.

Andrew has never felt his heartbeat this fast. He's terrified it might explode. Avery is still reeling. She can't believe what she's just learned, and she looks pale and weak with shock.

"What do you mean?" she asks Andrew.

"Charles is here, and his heart beats fast because of you," Andrew whispers.

Avery learned from Gabrielle that Andrew had a heart transplant before he came to Pleasure City, but she refuses to believe that his heart is Charles'. She continues to shake her head, vehemently.

"No! It's impossible. I don't believe you," she says, "Charles Meyer is alright. You're trying to trick me somehow."

"I was worried you wouldn't believe me," Andrew says casually, "If you want to kill me, I won't stop you."

Andrew bends over and grabs the pistol of the ground before offering it to Avery. Avery holds the gun tightly. Andrew stands with his hands in his pockets, as calm as if she were unarmed.

As the afternoon turns into evening, the fog thickens. The fuzzy outline of the woods disappears into the mist. The entire world seems to have gone invisible, leaving only Avery, Andrew, and the looming mansion.

Though she tries to hide it, Avery's hands are trembling, and the pistol is shaking slightly. Andrew looks arrogant and wild, daring her to shoot him. Avery raises her head, squares her shoulders, and looks decisively into Andrew's eyes.

"Give me your hand," she commands.

Andrew doesn't say anything. Though he doesn't know what she wants to do, he stretches his hand out automatically. She takes his fingers in hers with a caressing gesture, and then she shoots the tip of his finger. The bullet grazes the side of his finger and severs skin and muscle. It slams into the ground and chips the cobblestone.

Andrew suffers intense pain. He stares in shock at his bloody hand. The bodyguards immediately draw their pistols. They didn't expect Avery actually to shoot, and they definitely didn't expect her to fire a non-lethal shot. Though he's in pain, Andrew is not in any real danger from the bullet wound.

Andrew digs the fingers of his good hand into his palm. The nerves of the hand are connected, especially closely with the heart, and he feels like his heart is in agony. The pain seems to shoot up his arm, twist in his heart, and flow through the rest of his body with his blood.

"Bring me a cup of water," Avery orders.

"If you want to drink water, you could have asked for it directly," Andrew gasps through the pain, "Why did you have to ask in such an extreme way?"

"I just wanted to prove to you that I can't be bullied," Avery replies.

She approaches him and grabs his injured hand, pinching the base of his bleeding finger to staunch the flow of blood. Andrew immediately feels a warmth on his hand that has nothing to do with the freely flowing blood.

"Is her touch really so powerful?" he wonders.

"You didn't need to prove anything," Andrew says, staring at her with admiration, "I know who you are, and I know what you're capable of."

A servant quickly brings Avery a cup of water. Avery looks up and sees that the commotion has attracted the attention of a group of women. They lean against the balcony railings and look down at the courtyard. Though they're several yards away, the strong scent of their perfume fills the air. One of the women holds a phone and takes photos of the scene below.

"Who opened fire?" one of the women asks, "It's terrible below. They both have blood all over their hands."

"It must be Mr. Clifford," says another with a smirk, "That woman looks so arrogant, I'd want to shoot her too."

"You're just jealous of her beauty," responds another.

"Oh my god!" gasps one woman, "I think the woman fired at Mr. Clifford. But why does he look so happy?"

"I think we may meet the woman," worries another.

"Hush—don't make so much noise," says one woman, craning her neck to see better, "What are they doing now?"

Avery looks behind him at the women on the balcony and snorts derisively.

"Be quiet!" he snapped, loud enough for them to hear.

"You seem to have many beautiful women in your harem, Mr. Clifford," Avery says sarcastically.

"If you want to be with me, I will treat them as less than air," Andrew says.

"I'd prefer you treat me as less air," Avery retorts.

Avery takes the cup in one hand and Andrew's bleeding hand in the other. She raises his hand over the cup, and some of his blood drips into the water. She passes him the cup and points the small pistol at her own finger.

"What the hell are you doing?" Andrew demands.

"Don't you know?" she snapped, "I'm trying to do a blood test."

"Why do you need to do a blood test?" Andrew asks, baffled.

"Charles Meyer and I have the same blood type: we're both Type B," Avery explains, "If you do indeed have his heart, you also have to be Type B—otherwise your body would reject the transplant."

Andrew understands immediately. She can't definitively prove he has Charles' heart, but there is an easy way to prove he's lying. If the blood types are different, mixing them in water will cause hemolysis. The cells will burst, and the watercolor will change and look more transparent.

"What an intelligent woman!" Andrew thinks as his eyes filled with desire.