Belle recovered from the tranquilizers during the night. When she became relatively conscious she felt groggy and disoriented. She recognized she was in a bed and tried to sit up and get to her feet, and ended up flopping out of the bed and onto the floor. Someone with a soothing voice and strong hands helped her back under the covers and tucked her in again.

"Father?" Belle mumbled. "I'm so sorry, Father." The room was dark and the words came out of her mouth slurred together. The figure standing beside her smoothed her hair and murmured something gently, then left. Reassured, Belle snuggled under the sheets and fell into a natural sleep.

Belle woke up again sometime in the morning. The first thing she did was look towards the digital clock on her nightstand, but it wasn't there. Instead, there was a vase of faded plastic flowers. She knew the time because there was sunlight streaming in through the window.

Belle narrowed her eyes. Her bedroom didn't have a window.

The room she was in wasn't her bedroom. It was brown and blue, not pink and white, with paneled walls and shiny hardwood floors. There was a blue quilt with a white star pattern covering her, rather than a pink duvet, and under her head the pillowcase was white with little blue flowers rather than solid pink. On the wall there was a wooden clock with a carved chatot sitting on top of it. Beneath it was a rocking chair. Opposite the bed there was a dresser with a lamp. Those were the only furnishings in the small room.

Belle looked around for a few moments more, trying to see any cameras. She knew where the one in her real bedroom was, up high in the corner where she couldn't reach it. Not even Father knew that she knew about it; it was tiny as a button and painted pink to hide it against the wall. But she couldn't see anything here.

Maybe those two older kids were trying to confuse her by putting her here. Maybe it was some sort of trick, to make her think she wasn't being watched. Belle lay still with her eyes closed, listening, but couldn't hear any people noises. There were the sounds of bird pokémon calling outside the window, but none of the muffled traffic that was normal in Lumiose City.

Outside the window, something barked. Belle's eyes flew open.

A furfrou was outside the window looking in at her. It was standing on its hind legs with its front paws planted on the glass, wagging its tail. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth. It gave another deep bark and danced in place, seemingly happy to see her.

The door burst open. "Furfrou!" a woman bellowed, "Get down from there!"

The furfrou dropped down from the window with a whine, then raced away across the patchy lawn.

The woman looked at Belle. She was tall, with short brown hair that stuck up at odd angles. She was wearing jeans, a stained blue tank-top that showed off her muscular arms, and muddy boots. "Sorry about that," she said. "I was going to let you sleep longer, but Furfrou could break the window if she puts her paws on it too hard."

"Who are you?" Belle demanded.

"My name's Georgina, but you can call me George. My grandfather is Ramos, the Gym Leader in Coumarine City. I run Baa de Mer Ranch, which is where you are now. You seemed really, uh, confused last night."

"They gave me drugs to make me sleep."

"...Oh."

"Are you going to drug me?"

George shook her head. "We don't keep tranquilizers here, for humans or pokémon. What I was told to do was feed you, give you a place to live, and keep you safe. The only rule is that you're not allowed to leave the ranch."

Belle narrowed her eyes. She wasn't sure whether to believe this 'George'. It felt like she was telling the truth, but Belle's intuition had been wrong before. The older girl named Sina had seemed nice, but she and her friend had kept her drugged most of the time so that whole weeks seemed to pass in just a day. Her mind felt clear now, not foggy and confused, and she knew better than to trust this strange woman.

"Breakfast is pancakes," George said, "kitchen is right down the hall. Join me?" She cocked her head to one side, but when Belle didn't immediately respond she left the bedroom. She limped very slightly when she walked, favoring her right leg.

Belle watched her close the door behind her, then swung her feet out from under the covers and stood up. The mattress creaked loudly as she shifted her weight, which Belle noticed and filed away. It would be hard to be sneaky at night with a bed like that. Her dress was rumpled and smelled a little bit from wearing it more than a day, which made her wrinkle her nose; where were her clothes? She poked around in the dresser, but it was empty. She noticed a garbage bag lying at the foot of the bed with some pink fabric peeking out of the top, and delved into it. Here was where those two kids had put her things! In a garbage bag!

Internally, Belle was seething with rage as she changed clothes. How dare they treat her possessions this way! Who did they think they were, pawing through her things and choosing what to leave and what to take? What had they done with the rest of her stuff? Belle chose a red princess dress with short sleeves and a knee-length hem, red socks, and black mary jane shoes. When she was ready she stepped out into the hall, sniffed the air, and followed the smells of butter and sugar to the kitchen.

George nodded a greeting and indicated a plate with a stack of pancakes topped with syrup and chopped strawberries. "That's yours," she said. Belle watched her make a second stack of pancakes, put it onto another plate, and then took that one instead to the table. George didn't comment as she took the first plate and sat down opposite her.

"You haven't told me your name yet," the woman pointed out.

"You don't need to know it," Belle snapped, spearing a piece of pancake with her fork.

"What am I supposed to call you then? Red?"

"Red?"

"Your hair's red and your dress is red." George shrugged. "Why not?"

"...My name is Belle," Belle said, glaring.

"Nice name."

Belle sniffed and continued eating. The pancakes actually tasted good, which annoyed her, because this woman was ugly. She didn't wear makeup or style her hair, and she wore stained and dirty clothing like some kind of tramp. Father would despise her. There would be no place in the New World for women like this one; she shouldn't be allowed to exist.

"So," George said, "I've got to do chores after this. Can you wash the dishes for me?"

"No."

"Okay," George said, and went back to finishing her pancakes. Belle watched her carefully, but the woman seeming totally unruffled. She finished her meal and started the washing up without comment, moving quickly and efficiently. She put the dishes away and dried her hands, then turned back to Belle.

"I'm going out to milk the skiddo now," she said, "Do you want to help or even just tag along?"

"No."

"Alright." Again, she seemed unruffled by the refusal, and turned away to put on a ragged-looking coat hanging from a hook by the door. Belle watched her leave and listened as the door closed behind her, and felt a knot in her chest loosen. She relaxed her tight grip on her fork and let out a shuddering sigh. Several seconds passed, and the silence in the ranch house was broken only by the ticking of the clock. Belle eventually got down from her seat and started to explore the house.

The ranch house had one single, sprawling story that rambled along what seemed like dozens of narrow, curving passageways that opened suddenly to various rooms. There was the kitchen, which had a food preparation area and a tiny eating area, and then the dining room that had a big table with 17 chairs (Belle counted, just to be sure) one of which was broken, as well as a pantry lined with shelves full of cans and jars. Further down the maze of hallways was a massive living room with a big TV, a dusty sitting room full of ancient-looking furniture, and two bathrooms with claw-footed bathtubs. Everything in the house was a gentle blend of antique and modern, as though nothing was ever thrown away so long as it retained even the tiniest vestiges of usefulness. It was a good place to play hide-and-seek in, and Belle felt something like happiness as she trotted down the hallways, opening doors as she pleased to peek inside. There were nine bedrooms in total, though only two of them looked like someone actually slept there regularly. One was the room Belle was in, and the other was about the same size, but with a green-and-brown theme rather than blue-and-brown.

This was George's room. There was a bed, a desk piled high with papers and a laptop, a chair, a bookshelf full of worn-looking paperbacks about horticulture and raising various pokémon, and a dresser. Tacked to the walls were posters of metal and rock bands depicting people with too many piercings wearing leather clothing. Belle stood in the doorway for several seconds, taking it all in, then made a combee-line for the laptop.

She booted it up, and it opened (without any password protection) to an email account. There was a long list of emails from a person named Val, full of boring lovey-dovey stuff, as well more interesting emails from another person named Ramos. The name caught Belle's eye, and she clicked on the latest one.

Dear Georgina,

I still think gettin the mareep is a bad idea. I've told you why 1000 times—don't make me do it all again.

Your gonna be gettin a guest at the ranch soon. Sycamore's assistants are bringing her over. She's to stay with you until I give word otherwise. Don't let her leave the ranch. Otherwise just be kind to her, as I know you'll be.

Best,

Pappy Ramos

Belle read the email several times, thinking. So George knew nothing about her—not her name, not her father, not that she was born and raised in Lumiose City, nothing. She browsed through the rest of the laptop, but everything else was boring stuff with spreadsheets about types of feed, expenses, medication doses for different pokémon, etc.

Belle left George's room and wandered back to her own, where she half-heartedly made her bed. She didn't really want to, but Father had always made her keep her room tidy. It was a good habit to carry into adulthood, he'd said, and good training for being a model citizen of the New World. She also put her clothes away in the dresser, her toiletries in one of the drawers of the nightstand, and her books on top of the dresser. That emptied the despicable garbage bag and left her with nothing to do.

She looked out the window and saw three furfrou playing on the lawn. She watched them for a while, until one of the pokémon saw her. It gave a deep, resonating bark of joy and raced over to her, rearing up on its hind legs so that its front paws crashed into the window. The glass rattled in the frame, and Belle jumped back in shock. She backed away from the window as the furfrou whined and scrabbled at the glass, trying to get to her, then left the room.

Don't let her leave the ranch, the email had said. What was beyond the ranch?

Belle stopped dead in the hallway. Father. They were all afraid of her reaching her father.