Chapter Thirty Three

The dank, dimly lit cell that held Miller captive was a place of despair and solitude. The days seemed to stretch endlessly, marked only by the meager meals that were pushed through the small, barred window at irregular intervals. Miller, who had managed to survive the treacherous desert and make his way back to Omaha, was now a prisoner in his own city.

One gloomy evening, as the last rays of daylight dwindled, King Rico's ominous presence loomed over the cell. The guards unlocked the heavy door, and in walked the imposing figure of the self-proclaimed ruler of Omaha.

Miller, who had been sitting on the hard, cold floor, immediately rose to his feet. He had grown gaunt and disheveled during his captivity, but his spirit remained unbroken. His eyes met King Rico's with a mixture of defiance and determination.

"Rico," he uttered, the words dripping with contempt. He had once considered Rico his brother and a trusted ally. Now, all he saw was a power-hungry despot.

King Rico's lips curl