The Duel Under Rowan Shade

Heather ripples under a hard blue sky. MARA ELLERY (modern, windburnt focus) spreads a tartan blanket beside CALLUM SLOANE (magnetic, guarded). Between them: the THISTLE-ETCHED KEEPSAKE, metal catching sun like a trapped hour.

We don’t have long before it tugs again.

Then tell me what you’re not saying.

Mara pulls a weathered folder from her satchel — printed scans, marginal notes, a photo copy of a brittle page.

I checked my archive before we jumped last. The Kerr estate ledger— there’s a… hole.

She taps a blank space on the scan: a torn-out rectangle, neatly cut.

MARA (CONT'D)

A missing page dated 1926. The year the Kerr line— your line— should’ve been recorded.

Should’ve.

Mara looks up, eyes shining with fear.

It wasn’t missing yesterday.

A gust. The keepsake HUMS— low, intimate— like a pulse.

So our… kindness— the bread for Alasdair’s sister, the night we stayed—

—rippled forward. History’s reacting.

Or resisting.

He reaches for her hand. Their fingers interlock. The HUM becomes a THROB.

CALLUM (CONT'D)

If the page is gone… what does that make me?

Not gone. Just… unfiled.

She tries to smile. It breaks.

MARA (CONT'D)

If we restore it, we might erase everything we’ve changed. Everything we’ve—

She can’t say “made.”

Us.

The keepsake’s thistle etching glints. A SHARP WIND, like a door opening.

We need that page. We need to see what the wound stole.

And if it says I don’t exist?

Then we decide whether “correct” is worth the cost.

Callum leans in— almost a kiss— but the air SNAP-CRACKS.

The world WHIPS WHITE.

Autumn now. Golden bracken. A stone manor in the distance, soot-stained, half-swallowed by mist. A gramophone faintly plays somewhere— a scratchy waltz carried by wind.

Mara and Callum stumble in, breathless. Their modern clothes look wrong against the era— Mara yanks a shawl tighter; Callum tucks his shirt.

Nineteen twenty-six?

Between wars. Between certainties.

A FIGURE emerges from under a sprawling ROWAN TREE— ISOBEL CROWE, elegant in a cloche hat and tailored coat. Her smile is a blade.

You always land where the paper is thin.

Mara steps instinctively in front of Callum.

Isobel.

Mara. And you brought him.

Isobel’s eyes flick over Callum like she’s appraising an artifact.

ISOBEL (CONT'D)

The missing page— you feel it, don’t you? The itch where history wants to close.

What did you do?

I did nothing. You did.

She produces a SMALL LEDGER PAGE, edges cleanly cut— the exact missing rectangle. She fans it once, teasing.

ISOBEL (CONT'D)

Kerr estate registry, 1926. The line that proves who survives. Who marries. Who fathers.

Mara’s voice goes thin.

Give it to me.

Why? So you can staple the world back into place and pretend you didn’t bleed on it?

Callum’s jaw tightens.

What’s on it.

Isobel’s gaze gleams— delighted to hurt.

A duel.

A what?

Under rowan shade. 1826. A name scratched out because he shouldn’t have been there.

She steps closer, savoring their panic.

ISOBEL (CONT'D)

Alasdair Kerr lives in your new version. That’s your little kindness.

Mara flinches — a flash of Alasdair’s wary honor, his promise to protect them.

ISOBEL (CONT'D)

But the man who was meant to die in his place?

Isobel tilts her head toward Callum.

ISOBEL (CONT'D)

A Sloane.

Callum goes still. The gramophone waltz warps in the wind.

My ancestor.

Or you.

Isobel lifts the page higher, just out of reach.

Here’s the choice, lovebirds. Restore the record— and the duel takes what it always took.

She smiles wider.

ISOBEL (CONT'D)

Or keep your sweet rewritten thread… and watch the rest of the tapestry unravel.

Mara looks at Callum. He looks back— fear, devotion, a quiet plea not to make him a sacrifice.

If we fix it…

You lose Alasdair.

If we don’t…

You lose the world you know.

Isobel’s voice cuts through, bright as steel.

Decide. The wound likes drama.

The keepsake in Mara’s pocket begins to VIBRATE, answering the rising emotion. The air around them SHIMMERS.

Mara’s hand tightens around the keepsake through the fabric— knuckles white.

Whatever’s written— we choose each other. We choose what we can live with.

Callum nods, a painful resolve.

Then take the page.

Mara steps forward— fast— but Isobel snaps her wrist, PAGE FLASHING away like a card trick.

Not yet.

The SHIMMER becomes a ROAR. Leaves lift from the ground, spinning.

Mara locks eyes with Isobel.

You want to author us.

I want to own the ending.

The air SPLITS— a visible seam of light.

Callum grabs Mara’s hand.

Mara—

Hold on.

Their grip tightens as the world yanks.

Isobel, smiling, lets the ledger page flutter in the cyclone between them—

—and the TIME-WOUND SWALLOWS THEM ALL.