"Thank you," said the man as he lowered his phone after taking a selfie with me. I offered him a polite smile and a nod, my hands juggling two takeaway drinks I'd picked up for Margot and myself.
"You're welcome," I replied, already taking a step to leave.
"I'm really looking forward to Superman," he added, eyes still bright from the interaction. "The trailer was amazing."
"I hope you'll like the full thing," I said with a grin. "We're very proud of it."
Just then, a voice piped up behind me.
"Excuse me?"
I turned to find a girl maybe eighteen or nineteen standing a little awkwardly but beaming. She wore an oversized sun‑hat and clutched her phone in both hands.
"Are you… Daniel Adler?" she asked.
"I am," I said, adjusting my grip on the drinks.
She nearly squealed. "Oh my God! I'm Jasmine. Can I get a photo?"
"Sure."
We leaned in for a quick selfie. She thanked me about six times after she took the photo, then looked up at me, slightly more serious.
"I really hope you change your mind about postponing the Percy Jackson sequels."
I smiled but shook my head gently. "Sorry, Jasmine. I've decided to take things slow."
"Is it because of the superhero movies?" she asked, a bit accusatory.
Before I could answer, the guy from earlier clearly still hanging around chimed in, "Well, yeah. Of course he's gonna focus on the movies. They're the best part of his work."
Jasmine turned on him with narrowed eyes. "The books are better. So much better. He should be writing more, not less."
He scoffed, looking at me. "Can you believe that?"
Sensing what was brewing at my feet, I lifted a hand to gently de-escalate. "Hey, hey," I said, smiling at both of them. "Look, I'd rather take my time than rush something important. A rushed story helps no one. I promise what I've got in mind for Percy is worth the wait."
"I really want more Annabeth and Percy," Jasmine insisted.
I turned to her. "More Annabeth. More Percy. Everything will be on a bigger scale. I think you'll really love it."
"Now, if you'll excuse me, someone's waiting for these."
I gave them both a nod and made my exit, drinks in hand, walking out toward Bondi Beach. After a minute I spotted Margot exactly where I'd left her, standing near the café. She wore the sleek one‑piece swimsuit Haley had given her yesterday—designed by Haley herself—black with subtle red accents and cut in all the right places.
Around us, the coast buzzed with life, children splashing in the surf, volleyball games in full swing, and people simply lounging and enjoying the beach.
Haley and the rest of the Dunphy‑Pritchett clan were nearby, having turned the trip into a holiday after Phil's late mother's final wish that he see Australia. Haley had met us yesterday as soon as she arrived, and we were about to say a quick hello to the rest of the family before leaving for Darwin the next day.
I handed Margot her drink, noticing the tightness in her expression as she took it. She looked … irritated.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
She sighed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Some idiots were trying to hit on me. They're part of this weird subculture among teenage boys in this city…I thought it went out of fashion years ago."
I gave a half‑smile, tilting my head toward the towering man standing about twenty feet behind us a 6ʹ 5″, muscle‑packed local professional my people had discreetly hired for the trip. He wore board shorts, mirrored sunglasses, and an aloof expression.
"Ah," I said with a satisfied nod. "So our undercover bodyguard scared them off."
Margot chuckled. "Worth every dough to run those idiots off."
We continued walking down the shoreline, holding hands watching the sun glinted off the water.
Soon we spotted the Dunphys and Pritchetts lounging on the beach. Phil saw us first and jumped up to greet us.
"Danny! Margot! Great to see you two!" Phil beamed.
"Phil," I said with a grin. "How's your spiritual vacation going?"
"Great, great …" He trailed off, scratching his neck.
Margot tilted her head. "Why does your face look like that?"
Before Phil could deflect, Claire stepped in. "He found out the hard way that he's allergic to Vegemite."
Margot gasped, placing a hand dramatically over her heart. "That's … horrifying."
"Oh, it was," Phil muttered.
Jay and Gloria greeted us, and I noticed that Gloria was wearing beachwear similar to Margot's probably given to her by Haley. Jay and Claire looked extra happy, likely because Jay was finally stepping away from his closet business and handing it over to Claire. He was going to be a writer now, as he had declared. He was so sure of his book's success that he told me this trip could be the last time he'd be out in public without being recognized. He said it as a joke, but I liked that confidence.
Haley and Alex strolled over. Haley immediately zeroed in on Margot's swimsuit, her eyes widening.
"Okay," she said. "Have people been paying attention to you in that? Because they should be."
I raised an eyebrow. "I don't think getting noticed has ever been a problem for her."
Margot rolled her eyes, smirking. "You know, I could post a picture of this on Instagram."
Haley quickly held up a hand. "No, no, don't do that. I want the paparazzi to catch it naturally. Like that guy." She subtly pointed toward a man pretending to be on a phone call, a camera lens clearly visible peeking from his beach bag.
"Ah these fuckers" I muttered seeing the man.
"Once it's out there," Haley continued, "people are going to want to know where to get it. And I'll just … conveniently direct them to me."
Alex, arms crossed, deadpanned, "It was my idea, actually."
"And you're doing this for free?" I asked, joking.
Haley and Margot looked offended.
"No," Haley said. "Look, this is between me and Margot no need for you to get involved."
"I agree," Margot added, smirking at me with a wink.
Soon the business partners wandered off to do their thing, Haley snapping candid‑looking but clearly staged photos of Margot in the swimsuit, leaving me to stroll down the beach with Alex.
"So where are Mitchell and Cam? I haven't seen them around."
"Oh," Alex said, brushing her hair back as the breeze caught it, "they're off having dinner with some friend of theirs—Fergus Anderson, or something like that."
I stopped mid‑step, brow raised. "Wait Fergus Anderson?"
Alex turned to me, curious. "You know him?"
"Yeah," I said. "Well, not personally, but Margot does. He's kind of a big deal here, famous talk show host, a bit of a cultural icon in Australia."
Alex smirked. "Wow, look at that. Mitchell and Cam are cheating on you with another celebrity friend."
I laughed, shaking my fists. "Those bastards."
We kept walking.
Alex shot me a sideways glance. "Anyway, I could use some help."
"With what?"
"My college essay," she said. "I figured you might have some insight."
I blinked. "Alex, I didn't go to college."
"Oh, right," she said, snapping her fingers. "Which means you're functionally useless to me."
"Hey," I replied with a grin, "I can still give life advice. Very successful author, producer, and Oscar winner here."
Alex smirked. "Pass."
I was about to fire back a smart‑aleck comment when something in the water caught my eye.
"Hey … is that Luke?" I asked, squinting at a distant, half‑submerged figure bobbing near a cluster of girls.
Alex followed my gaze, instantly annoyed. "Oh, great. He and Manny have been perving on girls since we got to the beach."
I narrowed my eyes. "Wait … is he naked?"
Alex's head whipped toward the ocean. "What?!"
From where we stood, we could just make out Luke yelling that he needed my help while telling Alex to stay away.
"Really?" Alex shouted. "Because it looks like you're one wave away from a public‑indecency charge!"
I tried and failed to suppress a laugh. "Need some help, buddy?" I called.
Luke's voice drifted back. "Yeah, from you. Alex, go away!"
"I'm gone," she sighed, turning on her heel. "I don't get paid enough to be related to this idiot."
I waded closer to the waterline and spotted a pair of soaked black board shorts floating nearby. Just as I reached for them, someone rushed up behind me.
"Did you find them?!" Manny asked breathlessly.
I held the shorts up. "Got 'em."
Manny lit up. "Thank God. He made me search for ten minutes and wait, are those girls laughing?"
They were. A group on the sand was giggling at Luke's predicament as he tried to stay low in the water.
I tossed the shorts toward him, and he slipped them on fast.
"This never happened!" he shouted.
I shook my head, chuckling. "Think of it as karma, kid."
====
After spending some more time on the beach and helping Phil after he got stung by a jellyfish Margot and I said our good‑byes to the Pritchetts and Dunphys.
We spent one last day in Sydney, soaking up everything the city had to offer before leaving.
We climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Harnessed in, with the wind whipping against our faces, Margot and I along with Nathan ascended step by step while Mum stayed on the ground with Alice. From the top the city stretched out in every direction the glittering bay, the white sails of the Opera House, ferries cutting across the water.
Later we walked the length of the Sydney Opera House not for a show, just to explore. Tourists and locals passed by, some recognizing us, most not.
That evening things took an unexpected turn: we were invited to a party.
Not just any party—Hugh Jackman was hosting.
Margot, of course, knew half the guest list: actors, producers, musicians, even a few athletes. They were Australians famous mostly at home, but after that night I definitely knew who they were. Oh, and Rupert Murdoch was there, too.
Yeah. Didn't expect that.
We didn't stay long just long enough for Margot to meet a few of her favourite stars then headed back to where we were staying. The next morning we were at the airport with Mum, Nathan, and Alice, who were flying home, while Margot and I set off for Darwin to begin our cross‑continental train trip.
"Stay safe, both of you," Mum said, hugging us.
"Yeah make sure this one survives," Nathan added.
"Fuck off," I mouthed, not wanting Alice to hear.
Alice clung to my hand like a koala, clearly not ready to say goodbye.
"No, you can't stay come with us," she pleaded, her voice wobbling.
"I'll be back soon," I promised, finally convincing her I was going on an adventure to find her a gift.
After they left, we boarded our private jet to Darwin, and five hours later we touched down in the city.
We didn't linger. A car was waiting to take us to the station where we'd board the Ghan. Soon we were inside our Platinum‑class suite, essentially a small apartment on rails, with sleek timber finishes, plush furniture, and a panoramic window that ran nearly the length of the wall. You could sit on the bed or the couch and watch the country slide past like a slow, living painting.
The journey began quietly. As we pulled away from Darwin, the city melted into scrubland, then into nothingness: red earth, pale bushes, thin trees twisted by wind and time. The light was blinding—unnaturally bright, as if the sun had moved closer without notice.
The first major stop was Alice Springs, a speck of civilization swallowed by desert. But the magic started south of there.
The land grew stranger.
Salt pans lay cracked and glittering under the sun; hills blackened by fire; dust devils spun across the horizon like ghosts. We passed abandoned outposts, rusted signs, and windmills with blades warped into claws. That night the train halted in the middle of nowhere literally: no station, no town.
We stepped off into darkness. No light pollution, no sound but the wind.
Local guides had built a small fire beside the tracks. The sky above was the clearest I had ever seen. The Milky Way flowed overhead like a river, so vivid it looked unreal.
There wasn't much to do but stand together and drink it in.
=====
As the train began its final stretch toward Adelaide, Margot and I lay on the bed, trying to get some sleep.
"Okay," she said, poking me in the ribs. "We've got maybe six hours left on this train. Just tell me already where are we going from here, and who's this big Australian actor you met?"
I sighed. "Fine. I met Russell Crowe."
Her brows shot up. "Russell Crowe? When?"
"At that Universal party the one you couldn't go to," I said, folding my arms behind my head as casually as I could manage.
"Ohhh," Margot said knowingly. "That one."
"Yeah, well … we kind of hit it off. Talked a bit. He was actually pretty cool."
She squinted at me. "And he just casually told you about some mystery location in the middle of South Australia?"
I grinned, enjoying the suspense. "Actually … it's his place. A former cattle station turned private outback retreat."
Margot narrowed her eyes, skeptical. "And he just offered you his outback retreat to use? Just like that?"
I kept grinning. "Yeah, he did."
Margot crossed her arms. "What's the catch?"
"There is no catch," I said, raising my hands innocently. "I just mentioned we were coming to Australia, and he said" I deepened my voice in a rough imitation of Crowe"'You want peace and quiet, mate? Use my ranch. It's great.'"
She gave me a long look. "Uh‑huh. People don't hand out ranches unless they want something."
"I thought you liked Russell Crowe."
"I mean … he's fine," Margot muttered, rolling her eyes. "Horribly miscast in Les Misérables, though."
I chuckled. "He also mentioned he's thinking about selling it."
"Aha," she said, sitting up a little. "There it is."
"Hey," I said, holding up a hand. "I'm not saying I'm buying it. He just offered it at a ridiculously low price."
Margot raised an eyebrow. "And where exactly is this place again?"
"About five hours from Adelaide," I said with a shrug. "Roughly."
She scoffed. "You didn't even want to look at that cliffside mansion I told you about last month. But you're ready to run off and buy some ranch Russell Crowe owns?"
"I never said I wanted to buy it. I just think it'd be a cool place to stay for a few days."
"Well, if we both like it, then maybe we can buy it," Margot said. "And not just you I'll put in my own money."
I let the idea hang for a moment. Then I smirked. "By the way, what do you mean Russell Crowe was miscast in Les Mis? I thought he was kinda funny."
"Oh my god, don't get me started," Margot groaned and launched into a passionate rant about the casting choice.
=====
Arriving in Adelaide, we were met at the station by a man named Glenn the caretaker of Jackson's Station, the sprawling outback retreat owned by Russell Crowe. Glenn was in his fifties, built like an ex‑rugby forward who'd mellowed with time: weather‑beaten but sharp‑eyed, with a calming voice. Friendly as hell, too.
The drive was long about six hours north, deeper into the heart of South Australia. Civilization thinned quickly; towns grew smaller, then disappeared. Asphalt turned to gravel, gravel to red dust. Semi‑arid earth curled into low hills and craggy escarpments, everything sun‑baked and shimmering.
Ahead, the Flinders Ranges rose in jagged silhouettes.
"Now this is proper country," Glenn said, eyes on the road. "People think it's empty, nothing but dust. Perfect place for big stars like you to get away."
As we neared the station I understood what he meant. Nestled between the ranges stood a large homestead that looked as though it had been there a century.
"That's the main house," Glenn said, handing Margot the keys. "You'll have the whole place to yourselves. Staff quarters are a fair distance off, so you'll get plenty of privacy."
He paused, glancing westward. "Just a heads up some rangers are doing pest control on that side of the property. They'll be around for a few days."
After we climbed out of the car, Glenn showed us through the house: polished marble floors, an expansive open‑plan kitchen, floor‑to‑ceiling windows, plush furniture, and smart‑home tech hidden discreetly in the walls. It felt like a luxury resort air‑lifted into the outback.
Outside, we took in the view.
"We're definitely buying this," Margot said then froze.
A massive red kangaroo stood about ten feet away.
From behind us Glenn chuckled. "Ah, there he is. That's Archie. Harmless kind of our mascot."
"Archie?" I repeated. "Missed a perfect chance to name him Jack."
Glenn blinked. "Eh?"
I waved it off. "Never mind."
Archie tilted his head, gave us a vaguely judgmental once‑over, then bounded into the scrub.
Glenn laughed. "Don't worry he's friendly."
"So, how much did Russell say he wanted for this place again?" she asked.
Before I could answer, Glenn still within earshot—chuckled. "Oh, so you're buying the place, then? I'll be damned. Thought Mr Crowe would never get this one off his hands."
I raised an eyebrow. "Why? It's perfect for a quiet getaway: peaceful, gorgeous views, a bit remote—but that's half the charm."
Glenn gave me a measured look. "Well … don't tell him I said this, but it's also kinda haunted."
Margot swung toward me with the kind of expression that screamed I told you there'd be a catch. Arms folded, she was practically vibrating with I‑told‑you‑so.
"Oh, come on, Glenn," I said, smirking.
He shrugged. "Don't know, Mr Adler. But there's a reason Mr Crowe doesn't come round anymore, and a reason we the staff don't stay near the main house. Been that way for years."
Margot, half‑amused and half‑curious, asked, "Haunted by what, exactly?"
Glenn stared out over the land, as if seeing something far beyond the hills. "This place started as a cattle station in the 1870s. A British settler named Hiram Bellamy brutal man, him and his sons. Cleared the land fast, drove out the Indigenous families who were already here. I mentioned some of this on the drive up."
"You did," I said with a slow nod.
"Well," Glenn went on, "Hiram once locked some of his own workers inside the machinery shed claimed they were stealing food. Left 'em there. They all died. Starved."
"Weeks later, his youngest boy was found hanged in the windmill tower. The whole family died in a fire after that."
Margot glanced at me, then back at Glenn. "And what happened after that?"
Glenn didn't answer right away. He kept his eyes on the ridgeline. "We've seen things. Heard things. Voices. Lights where there shouldn't be any. Even Mr Crowe had a moment or two. That's why he stopped visiting."
I swallowed and tried to laugh it off. "Well, that's … something."
Glenn smiled politely. "I'll leave you to it," he said at last, stepping back. "Enjoy your stay. If you end up buying it, I hope you'll keep me on as caretaker."
He tipped his hat and walked into the dusk, boots crunching over dry earth as the sun dipped behind the ranges.
Margot turned to me. "Your 'friend' Russell forgot to mention that detail."
I sighed. "Yeah. He's not my friend anymore."
She laughed, brushing past me and heading inside. "Maybe it'll be fun."
I lingered a moment, taking one last look around. Archie the kangaroo stood about thirty feet away, perfectly still, watching me.
I gave him a casual little wave.
Swear to God, he lifted one paw just slightly and waved back.
I blinked, then shook my head and followed Margot into the house, hoping this wouldn't turn into a Paranormal Activity situation.