Bertha's POV
The smoke still lingers, curling in the air. This was no chimney, but a cruel reminder that we are in a big mess. The pack house’s charred edges glow faintly in the moonlight, just a hint of what could have been a catastrophe. But my mind isn’t on the damage Ford did—it’s on what he could’ve done.
Or worse still, what he’s already set in motion. And because of that, I don't judge Friedrich for what he did to Ford, not even by a fraction.
“Hey, are you alright?” I ask him.
Friedrich looks at me with a quizzical look. “No, Bertha.”
I think he would've loved to say more things to me, but I guess he's just as overwhelmed by the situation we've found ourselves in. As I'm still searching for what else to say, my Mom calls Friedrich, and he leaves me standing idly.
My fing
