It was 1752, a decade after the smoke had cleared from Culloden, and Jamie Fraser found himself back at the hill where his heart had been torn out. He wasn't there to find Claire—he knew she was safe in a future he couldn’t touch—but because the "Blood of my Blood" was calling from the earth itself.
He stood, wrapped his plaid tight against the Highland chill, and looked toward the horizon. He couldn't go to her, but he knew now that the very earth beneath his feet was keeping the door open.
The vision snapped. Jamie pulled his hand back, his own palm stinging. A thin, red line had opened across his skin, mirroring his father’s old wound. The stones fell silent.
As he pressed his palm against the central monolith, the air grew thick with the scent of ozone and gorse. Usually, the stones screamed with the sound of a thousand bees, but tonight, they whispered. They whispered a name: Brian.
Suddenly, the ground gave way, not into a physical pit, but into a vision. Jamie saw his father, Brian Fraser, standing on this very spot decades earlier. Brian wasn't alone. He was facing a traveler—a woman with eyes like amber and skin the color of toasted honey. She wasn't Claire, but she wore a medical stethoscope around her neck like a silver serpent.