Quiet Obsession (Gravemont Elite #1)

Chapter 1

Millie

Rain patters the windshield.

It hasn’t stopped since we landed in Seattle almost two hours ago. The dark, stormy sky hangs above us, perfectly matching my mood. Hyde careens along the winding road like we’re being chased, eyes checking the mirrors almost as often as he checks his phone. We’re lucky there’s no other traffic.

He grips the steering wheel with one hand, knuckles blanching with the effort, every line of his body winding tighter the closer we get. Maybe he’s having second thoughts.

It’d serve him right.

He shouldn’t have insisted on enrolling me at Gravemont. It’s his turf. He’s a senior, and if I know my older brother at all—which is debatable—he’s at the top of the pecking order.

I doubt he considered the consequences of dragging his odd little sister into the equation. It was a bad, bad idea. I give it a week before everyone’s calling me Hyde’s weird little sister.

Weird, mute little sister hiding under oversized jumpers.

He really didn’t think this through, did he?

People talk. They judge and point fingers, forming opinions well before they get to know a person. Hyde’s reputation will take a massive hit if someone digs into my past to figure out why I barely speak.

My parents pulled a lot of strings while frantically trying to bury what they call the incident. Most of them snapped. They kept my reaction quiet, but there was no hiding the action.

“We’re stopping soon,” Hyde says, glancing at me, his hazel eyes softening. “You should eat something, sis.”

I’m not hungry waits at the tip of my tongue, unspoken. I haven’t been hungry for months, but food keeps the headaches at bay, so I eat. Just not as much as my brother would like.

He exhales sharply, fingers tapping the steering wheel.

He hates this.

Hates me like this.

Not because he’s ashamed, at least I don’t think he is, but because he doesn’t know how to fix me.

It doesn’t stop him from trying, though.

Maybe if I’d kept my mouth shut instead of breaking almost two months of complete silence for him, he would’ve given up by now. But I trusted him first with my voice. Single-worded answers for days, then a bit more, and more, until he became the only person I speak to in full, meaningful sentences.

Everyone else gets the bare minimum.

Yes, no, hi, bye.

People can’t use your words against you if you don’t give them any. Evan taught me that trust means handing someone a gun... and words can become ammunition.

I used to talk about everything I loved. Movies, paint colors, pencils, my favorite constellations, and the way chocolate tastes better when it’s melted. He called it exhausting.

He called me exhausting.

Now, I question every word.

Hyde doesn’t understand. He thinks my silence is a trauma response, a wound that needs stitching, something he can repair if he’s patient. The only reason he’s trying to fix me is that he thinks he’s the one who broke me.

In the beginning, he theorized a lot, and I think he’s still convinced I physically can’t get the words out. That I freeze or choke when I’m stressed, overwhelmed, or whatever, but that’s far from the truth.

My silence is a choice.

A shield.

I won’t put it down just because it makes my brother or anyone else uncomfortable.

The road before us cuts between the towering pine trees of Washington State. We’ve been traveling by car, plane, and car again for seven hours. I’m thankful that he leaves his Cherokee in Seattle airport parking whenever he heads home to Alameda, California, instead of driving the distance.

I remember the day he left for his freshman year, his car filled to the brim. Back then, he said he’d drive home every holiday, but it never happened. Since starting Gravemont, Hyde only came home twice. Once to visit me at the hospital and once this summer just gone. He flew in both times.

I don’t blame him. The sixteen-hour car ride is my number one reason for not wanting to come here.

Washington’s weather is the second.

Imposing on Hyde’s turf is the third.

And yet, here I am, because my brother flipped from not caring to over-coddling, and he’s determined to coax me back to life. I don’t like being coaxed, but how would he know? Until the incident, we were basically strangers.

Now, he thinks Gravemont can end my silence.

“It’ll be good for you,” he said when he brought the wad of admission papers home. Normally, I’d have to apply long in advance, but Hyde pulled some strings, and I was accepted a few weeks ago.

I doubt he really thinks Gravemont’s a good fit for me. His guilty conscience simply wants me where he can see me. Close enough to ensure I eat, drink, and breathe.

He slows down as a blue sign appears through the mist:

Poulsbo—Exit 2 Miles.

Fuel · Food · Restrooms.

Five minutes later, we pull into town. It’s the kind of place that feels permanently damp. Fog clings to the rooftops, neon signs flicker against rain-streaked glass, and umbrellas hide pedestrians rushing along sidewalks.

The rain slows to a fine mist when Hyde stops at a gas station, cracking his neck left and right. I don’t move, staring out the window and ignoring my reflection staring right back.

I hate that I look sad, even though I’m not. I’m nothing, really. Not sad, not angry, not happy, just... empty. Blank.

“I’ll fuel up, you go grab us some food.” He pushes the door open but turns back my way before stepping out. “Real food, Millie. Not a protein bar.”

Half the time, I want to snap at him, tell him I can take care of myself without his constant nagging.

That I’m neither reckless, spiraling, nor suicidal.

When I finished therapy last month, my psychiatrist had run every test and diagnosed me with nothing.

My survival instincts are simply in overdrive.

It took them months to come to that conclusion.

I was fine when Hyde went back to college after I was discharged from the hospital, but now that he’s dragged me into his world, he can protect me like I’m his porcelain doll.

I hate that, too.

We exit the car, and I turn to go inside but stop and look over my shoulder. “What do you want?”

Hyde smiles. He always smiles when I ask questions instead of merely answering his.

“Surprise me, but no tuna.”

The overdoor bell rings and a gush of warmth carrying a stench of old grease fans my face. Save for the cashier, the place is deserted. The fluorescent lights grind my nerves as I grab two water bottles and a few protein bars, then stop at the deli counter, eyeing the sandwiches.

Sad-looking tuna for me, drooping BLT for Hyde.

He joins me at the till and nudges me aside before I can whip out my credit card.

The rest of the drive flies by. I finish the sandwich, under Hyde’s scrutiny, and wash it down with half a bottle of water, then snack on a protein bar for good measure.

“We’re here,” he says as the narrow, woodland road reveals a high, iron-wrought gate. Gravemont College, Established 1869, the plaque reads. The letters are faded, the metal weathered to a dull brown, moss creeping over the corners.

Hyde rolls down his window, punches in a code, and the gate creaks open, revealing the campus beyond. My head spins left and right as Gothic arches and pointed roofs rise from the fog. Old stone buildings, trimmed hedges, lamps flickering in the low mist.

It’s beautiful in an eerie, horror-movie way. I half expect a petite blonde to run in front of us, fleeing across the damp lawns from a masked killer.

“Gravemont has five main buildings aside from the dorms,” my brother starts. “Admin, library, lecture halls, cafeteria, and theater. Though that’s been out of use for two decades.”

He follows the road, gravel crunching under the tires.

“That’s East Wing.” He gestures to a building on the left, surrounded by a chain-link fence and yellow tape. Scaffolding hugs the far side. “Fire took out a section over the summer. They had to reroute most of the freshmen.”

I don’t like where this is going...

“South Wing’s down that hill,” he continues.

Sophomores.

“West is past the tree line.”

Juniors.

“Ridgeview overlooks the Pacific.”

Post-grad.

He doesn’t head toward any of them, and I know exactly where my housing has been coincidentally rerouted. He pulls up in front of the largest dorm on campus. His dorm.

“North Wing,” he announces, parking in the space nearest the entrance.

“Seniors,” I whisper.

“Usually. This year, we’re playing host to a few freshmen like all the other dorms.”

And I’m the lucky girl with a brother in the North Wing who just so happened to land a room here. Fuck. I was hoping to keep my head down and stay out of Hyde’s way as much as possible.

He exits the car, pulling out our suitcases from the trunk. I don’t move, staring at the towering building, my stomach rolling. He’s unbelievable. How he got me sorted in here is beyond me, but the why is easier to riddle out.

I knew he’d hover. I knew we’d see each other around campus, but living in the same building equals constant scrutiny.

He’ll monitor my every move.

I jump when the passenger-side door swings open with a flourish and an unfamiliar face peeks inside, lowering until we’re eye level. His dark blond hair falls messily across his forehead, curling around his ears, and hazel eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Hi there, Mini Ward.” He grins, wrestling the door open further. “Are you getting out or...?”

I blink at him.

He has the energy and charm of someone who could talk his way past a jury while blood drips from the knife in his hand.

“Dash,” my brother says, a touch of warning coloring his tone. “What did I say about boundaries?”

“More than I could be bothered to remember,” Dash admits, looking back at me. “You’re quieter than I expected. And much prettier than I imagined.”

“Don’t fucking imagine my sister again,” Hyde clips, slamming the trunk closed.

Dash grins, rolling his eyes. “If you ever need someone to sneak you off campus or bring you contraband from the faraway outside world, I’m your guy, Mini Ward.”