Page 34 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

"All the flooring is new," the landlord offers.

I am choosing to be positive about this one. The carpet seems clean. The hot water is brand new, I know because Marcus asked within forty seconds of walking in. The kitchen bench is solid, and though Marcus hasn't tapped his knuckle against every surface, he hasn't clicked his tongue yet either, which I'm counting as a win.

However, now he's found his way to the second bedroom, which the listing described as a study. He has not said anything for three minutes. I find this more alarming than when he talks.

"Marcus?" I call.

"Yep."

"What are you doing?"

A pause. "Just looking at the ceiling."

"Why?"

"No reason."

There is a reason. There is always a reason. It reveals itself thirty seconds later, when Marcus emerges with a photo on his phone of a hairline crack running along the cornice in the far corner of the room.

"That's been filled and repainted," he says to the landlord. "Twice, by the look of it. What's above this room?"

"Just the roof cavity." There's a shake to his voice. I almost want to give him a hug.

"And the roof was last inspected⁠—?"

"Um. I'm sure it's fine," the landlord says.

Marcus gives him the withering look of someone who's been in construction for ten years and deeply distrusts anyone who utters the phrase "I'm sure it's fine."

I can hear the sounds of a dial tone coming from the living room. "Er, who are you calling, Zachary?" I ask, almost scared of the answer. Which is scary in itself. Zachary has been the most reasonable so far on this impromptu housemate outing.

"Just the strata manager," he says.

"Oh my god! Where did you get their number?"

He points to a little sticker on the sideboard and then presses his finger to his lips.

"Yes, hello. My friend is looking at apartment two at 98 Ellison Dr. I have some questions. Could you tell me if there have been any police call-outs to this building or any in the area in the last two—" Marcus throws him a look. "—er, five. Make that five years?"

I look longingly at the balcony and wonder if I should fling myself off it.

That is, until I notice Rhys. He's on the balcony, hands in his pockets, looking at a small group of people in one of the covered spots in the park with an almost readable expression. That can't be good. Especially when said expression is disgust.

"Good place, right?" I ask, coming to stand beside him.

"No," he says, and walks straight out to his car.

The third place is in Goodwood and it is, objectively, the best one so far.

Top floor of a converted Edwardian terrace. High ceilings. Original cornice. Spotted red gum floorboards. A clawfoot bath. A kitchen with actual stone bench tops that Marcus can tap to his heart's content and find completely unobjectionable.

I know it is the best one because I walk in and feel something in my chest loosen slightly, which is the closest thing to hope I've experienced in any of the rental inspections.

Marcus crouches in front of the kitchen cupboard under the sink. He doesn't say anything, just looks for a long time, then stands and catches Zachary's eye, something passes between them that I'm not party to.

Zachary turns to the landlord. "Has there been any water damage in the kitchen?"

The landlord's smile goes very still. "Oh. Um, it was just a very minor fir⁠—"