Bonnie looked up at the large wooden sign above the entrance of that brick and weathered-wood building. [JONES MINING COMPANY], it read in bold letters.
She glanced back at Capella one last time, then stepped inside the way any girl would after regretting running away from home—head down, body trembling with fear. She gripped the hem of her dress carefully so her boots wouldn't catch on the fabric.
The first floor held the reception area: desks, accountants, assistants, filing cabinets, and employees rushing back and forth in a controlled frenzy, delivering telegrams to specific people throughout the building.
The whole place had an air of relentless work—the smell of fresh ink, hot steam, the constant clatter of typewriters, and the small steam engines creaking and running at full capacity.
Bonnie approached the receptionist sitting behind all the chaos and met her eyes with a brief, crooked smile.
"Good evening, Patty… Is my father available right now?"
Patty, the secretary, was typing away on her brand-new typewriter, her fingers flying across the keys at impressive speed. She glanced up when Bonnie arrived, gave her bloodstained clothes a quick once-over, and answered in a flat, disinterested tone.
"He's upstairs. He's waiting for you."
"Thank you, Patty."
"You're going to get the beating of your life, you spoiled little brat," Patty added, her voice carrying that same unpleasant apathy.
Bonnie swallowed and tightened her grip on the hem of her dress. She already knew what was waiting for her—she just had a small, stubborn hope that things might be different this time.
Maybe if she told him what had happened with the cult that kidnapped her, he'd keep that wild boar leather belt of his tucked away and spare his pretty little daughter the trouble. But wishing for something and actually bending reality to make it happen were two very different things—so she made her way to the side of the building, passing through the other rooms where more employees were hard at work.
She climbed the narrow staircase to the second floor, then continued up to the third. Once she was there, standing in front of her father's office, she took a deep breath and steadied herself.
'You're a rich girl, Bonnie Jones—and even you have it hard sometimes. We're going to have to be strong. Both of us.'
She knocked four times with her fingers, making sure her father would know it was her. Then she heard a deep voice from inside.
"Come in," it said.
That intimidating voice made Bonnie shiver—but she opened the door anyway and sealed her fate, because she couldn't run forever. Well, she could—but that wasn't going to help her survive as a young woman in a world this… unforgiving.
She closed the door behind her and stood with her back to the room for a moment, collecting her thoughts. Then she turned around to face her father.
There was a man sitting there. His beige hat was slightly oversized, and his clothes were elegant—shirt and trousers that matched his hat, a black leather belt, and a hard look in his emerald-green eyes.
He was a broad man in his forties. His skin had begun to show its age, crow's feet creasing the corners of his eyes.
"Bonnie. Sit down."
She nodded. She sat in the chair across from his desk, piled with papers, and fixed her gaze on the floor.
The room was decorated with paintings brought in from the other side of the world, ornaments in precious metals, and a smell of tobacco and fine liquor that soaked into every corner. It was, unmistakably, the workspace of a mining magnate.
"Tell me, daughter—what on earth were you thinking, running off from home like that? Do you have any idea how worried I was?" he said. His voice still carried that same sense of dread.
Bonnie tightened her grip on her skirt.
'Come on, Bonnie. We're one now. We can do this.'
But no matter how hard she tried, her voice wouldn't come. Her lips trembled before a single word could form, and she could feel herself on the edge of tears. Why? Because Bonnie's emotions were stronger than Samuel's.
The man waited.
"I didn't… want to…" she finally managed, her voice barely holding together.
Her father, Nicholas, sighed. He rose from his seat and walked toward Bonnie.
"What was it you didn't want?"
Bonnie couldn't answer.
'Damn it! I need to say something right now! So why can't I?! Why do I feel so… small?'
Nicholas ran out of patience with the silence. He turned as if heading back to his desk—but then spun on his heel and raised his hand. Without a moment's hesitation, he struck her across the face with his full strength.
The blow was brutal. Bonnie fell from the chair and hit the floor hard, then lay there staring up at nothing, completely in shock.
Her cheek burned red. She slowly raised her hand to her face as the pain began to swell. By the time she realized what was happening, the tears were already falling.
Nicholas crouched down and grabbed her by the hair, forcing her to look him in the eyes. Bonnie cried out at the pain in her scalp, but the man didn't seem to care in the slightest.
"Tomorrow morning you get up early and make yourself presentable. Mr. Graves will be coming to see you, and you will receive him as his future wife. Are we clear? Tomorrow we'll discuss why you're covered in blood. If you understood what I said, you'll go to the hotel. I'll have a room reserved for you."
Bonnie held back her sobs.
"Did you hear me?" said Nicholas, pressing his voice harder to make his point.
She nodded, terrified—which was enough for her father to release her.
"If you understand, then get out of my sight. I'm busy."
With trembling hands, Bonnie got to her feet and ran to the door. She had hoped her father would send her off with some final words—an insult, maybe—but what she got was something worse than that: cold, indifferent silence.
She left the office without a word and hurried down the stairs until she was back outside. When she saw Capella, she untied the reins and climbed into the saddle immediately. Among the few people still out on the streets, this mare felt like the only one who was actually on her side.
"Come on, girl. Let's go to the hotel."
Capella seemed to pick up on something else entirely—she moved slowly through the streets, dragging her hooves along the ground as though she were mirroring her rider's mood.
Bonnie kept her eyes shut tight and tried to hold herself together.
She stayed like that until they reached the hotel—a long, four-story wooden building with a Victorian design, one of the Jones family properties. A few windows still glowed with warm light, and only a handful of people were still coming and going.
She stared at the building in silence, and didn't notice the young boy who had appeared beside her—a hotel employee.
"Good evening. Allow me to take your horse, Miss Jones. My colleagues will help you with everything else shortly."
Bonnie dismounted.
There was nothing to say. Even Samuel had nothing.
She said goodbye to Capella with a gentle stroke along her neck, then walked inside.
The interior was far more elegant than anyone would expect compared to the rougher parts of Ironwood—where some streets were still dirt, the houses were falling apart, and organized crime made itself at home.
The soft electric lighting gave the place an almost futuristic quality, which seemed to draw in plenty of guests.
"Good evening, Miss Jones. We've prepared a bath and two changes of clean clothing in your room," said a somewhat older woman dressed as though she belonged in a European court. "We hope everything is to your liking."
Bonnie nodded.
The woman guided her up to the third floor, where the Jones family's private suite waited—furnished with every luxury that steam-powered engineering and money could provide.
The moment Bonnie stepped inside, the door was locked behind her by the woman. They weren't about to let her slip away again.
Too exhausted to even acknowledge the fact that she was completely drained, tears dried on her face, Bonnie crossed the lavish room toward the bathtub. The suite was a near-perfect replica of Victorian European architecture.
As she walked, she pulled off her boots and kicked them aside. Then she stepped out of her dress and let it fall to the floor. A single tug on the laces of her corset sent it dropping near the door, and she tossed her stays beside it. Finally, she pushed open the bathroom door, peeled off her long stockings, her chemise, and her drawers.
Inside the bathroom—copper fittings, iron fixtures, walls of lacquered wood, hot steam filling every corner, shower valves, pressure gauges, and fine copper pipes running exposed along the walls—Bonnie lowered herself into the heavy, costly copper tub, the water already hot and waiting.
She sat there, staring at nothing, as the grime slowly lifted from her skin.
This body…
Bonnie looked down at herself, but the sight didn't stir a single impure thought—because when she looked at herself, all she saw was herself, and no one else.
Mixed in with the water, a couple of tears fell. Bonnie finally let out everything she had been holding in since she left the office. She cried without restraint, thoughts crashing over her in waves.
'This isn't fair… Do I have no say in anything? Am I supposed to just obey my father's orders and the orders of powerful men? What kind of life is that?'
She squeezed her eyes shut.
'I don't want this. I can't accept it. I simply can't!'
The real Bonnie would have cried through the entire night until she fell asleep. But now that her soul rested alongside that of a traveler from another world, she began to think differently—even as the emotions threatened to take over completely.
She had to—no. She was going to do something about this. She just needed to figure out what.