Fiona left Aberdeen for Inverness early the next day, rolling down the window to let the fresh morning air flutter through her long brown hair as she drove. She was looking forward to exploring the Highlands; it was where she intended to get most of her sketching done.

She took in the stunning landscapes that surrounded her as she drove—the rolling expanses of flat grassy fields, punctuated by small towns or the ruins of old castles, the hazy outline of mountains in the distance, the stretch of clouds in the pristine blue sky. A tug of familiarity pulled at her, that same sense of déjà vu that seized her when she'd seen that painting. But she shook off the sensation; it was probably because she was enjoying her time here so much.

She arrived in Inverness a couple of hours later, checking into a quaint bed-and-breakfast on the outskirts of town, owned by a kind elderly married couple.

After settling in her room, she had her lunch in the small dining room of the bed-and-breakfast, where she realized with a stab of annoyance she was the only solo diner; once again, couples surrounded her. For the first time since she arrived in Scotland, a pierce of loneliness stabbed her heart. She wasn’t lonely for Derek—or for any man—but there was something missing. It was a feeling that had plagued her over the years, even when she was with Derek; the sense that she’d misplaced something, something she'd lost, yet couldn’t fathom what it was.

Fiona suddenly stilled, the sensation of eyes on her skin prickling the back of her neck. It was the same sensation she'd felt back at the museum in Aberdeen. She took a quick look around the dining room, but all the couples were engrossed in each other, and no one paid her any mind.

She swallowed, getting to her feet. Was she getting paranoid? She decided she needed to get some air, perhaps do some sketching. She'd intended to spend the day exploring Inverness, but decided instead to head out to the nearby town of Larkin, nestled in the midst of the Highlands, with plenty of breathtaking views. Sketching always relaxed her and helped take her mind off things.

It was still sunny out when she left. The bed-and-breakfast owners told her a sunny day was a rare thing in Scotland, and to enjoy it.

As she drove out of Inverness and into the surrounding Highlands, a sense of calm and relaxation settled over her. She made a mental note to give Isabelle a big hug and thank her for convincing her to transform her honeymoon into a solo vacation; she didn't realize how much she'd needed it until now.

She was driving for about half an hour when she approached a forked road—the one on the left led to the town she was heading to, the one on the right led toward the mountains.

A sudden and inexplicable urge to turn right filled her, and Fiona gave into it, taking the road that veered right. She told herself that she’d briefly explore what was up ahead, then turn back around in a few miles.

The surrounding vistas were even more stunning here; the dark green hills and mountains that surrounded her spiraled into the sky toward clouds that blanketed the horizon, leaving only small patches of blue.

Fiona slowed down as she approached the ruins of what appeared to be a small medieval town, with several decrepit houses, and even a lone, aging castle in the distance.

She pulled over to the side of the road, looking down at the map on her phone, but there was no indication of any town here. She also checked the physical map she’d brought with her, and her guidebook, but they were both the same—no mention of the ruins of a medieval village.

Fiona got out of her car, looking around. There wasn’t another soul in sight, and the main road she'd turned off of was miles behind her. In this moment, she felt like the only person in the world.

She took in the stunning vista that surrounded her, and knew she couldn't pass up the opportunity to sketch it.

Moments later, she found a comfortable sitting position on the ground and took out her pad to sketch. Soon, she became absorbed in her work, and everything else faded away. It was what she loved most about sketching or painting—the act took her out of place and time—it was what she did whenever she needed refuge from the stressors of everyday life.

When she finally looked up, her sketch almost complete, she blinked in astonishment. The sun hadn’t moved, but she was certain that at least two hours had to have passed, which often happened when she got lost in her sketching.

She dug into her purse for her phone, glancing down at the time. And she froze.

It read the same time she’d arrived—2:15 p.m.

But that was impossible. She wondered if the dodgy cell reception of the Highlands made her cell's clock unreliable.

Fiona stood, heading to her car, and poked her head inside to look at the clock. But it read the same time. 2:15 p.m.

She shook her head, pushing aside her unease. Regardless of the time, she should head back to Inverness; she owed Isabelle a phone call. Reaching down, Fiona gathered her things, but she saw something out of the corner of her eye. Movement from the ruins of the castle.

Fiona straightened, studying the castle. She noticed the movement again. A woman. Though she was some distance away, Fiona could tell it was the same mysterious woman from the museum in Aberdeen.

Panic, fear and shock clawed its way through her chest. With a chill, Fiona recalled the sensation of eyes on her back at the bed-and-breakfast. The woman was following her.

Hot anger replaced her fear. Fiona dropped her things, stalking toward the castle.

“Hey!” she shouted, but there was no sign of the woman as she approached. "HEY!"

Fiona reached the ruins of the castle, stepping into the courtyard. She hesitated as another swell of déjà vu swept over her. This time the feeling was so overwhelming that she swayed on her feet. She looked around at the crumbling castle, unable to shake the sensation that she’d been here before. She swallowed as another chill crept up her spine.

Focus, Fiona. She needed to find that woman and find out what the hell was going on—and why she was following her. Fiona turned, scanning the courtyard. There was no sign of the woman, though she couldn't have gotten far.

"I know you’re here! Why are you following me?”

She heard a scurry of movement coming from her left and turned. It had come from a crumbling tower; she could see a winding set of stairs leading below.

Fiona hurried toward it, making her way down the set of stairs, which was surprisingly solid compared to its crumbling surroundings. It led to what appeared to be an ancient, ruined cellar.

She looked around, disoriented. What if this was some sort of trap—and the woman had led her down here on purpose? Panic rising in her chest, Fiona turned back to head up the stairs, but the cellar had darkened, and she could barely see in front of her.

Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she found the wall with her hands, feeling along its rough surface to help guide her back to the entrance.

But she froze as a sudden rush of wind filled the cellar—as if a miniature invisible tornado had appeared. Her heart rate increased, and she tried to keep her grip planted on the wall to keep moving toward the entrance, but a tug of wind jerked her body back, away from the wall, and impossibly, she was falling . . .