_Aaron’s POV_
The battle was over, and I was furious. My rogues had been confident, their hunger for revenge clear in their eyes, but the Firemoon Pack was stronger. Their warriors were too many, too disciplined. We were outnumbered and outmatched.
I paced in the witch’s lair, the scent of burning herbs and damp earth suffocating me. My body still ached from the fight, but it was nothing compared to the sting of failure.
“How could this happen?” I growled, slamming my fist against the wooden table. “We were supposed to win!”
The witch sat on a stool in the corner, stirring her ever-bubbling cauldron. Her expression wasn’t sympathetic. In fact, she looked amused.
“You underestimated them,” she said, her voice calm and laced with mockery. “And overestimated your little band of rogues.”
