C22 Whispers of the Enemy.

“Wake up,” Dontrell’s deep voice pierced through the haze of my sleep. His hand on my shoulder was firm but not rough, tapping me awake with a subtle sense of urgency.

My eyes fluttered open, and I saw him. He was already dressed in a sharp black shirt tucked into tailored slacks, his tall frame towering over me. His expression was unreadable, but his dark brown eyes lingered on my face