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Chapter Twenty-five

The morning sun filtered through the broken windows, casting a gentle, golden glow over the room where Miller had found refuge. He awoke with a heavy sense of exhaustion and pain, the memories of the previous night weighing on his mind like a burden.

With aching muscles, he pushed himself into a sitting position, his body protesting every movement. He had injured the werewolf who had been guarding him, a feat that had taken every ounce of his strength and resolve. The scars of the encounter still throbbed with pain.

As he glanced around the room, it struck him that this place had once been a home, a sanctuary for a family that had likely been displaced or worse by the transformation of Omaha. The walls bore the marks of happier times, adorned with faded wallpaper and remnants of family photos.

Miller's heart ached for the innocents who had been caught in the chaos of King Rico's reign, victims of a power struggle they had never asked to be a part of. He couldn't help but wonder how ma
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