The accusation hits like a punch to the gut. Alicia stands stiffly in the center of the settlement square, faces turned toward her with suspicion and anger. A stolen stash of supplies has gone missing, and somehow, her name is whispered as the culprit.

“No, I didn’t—” Alicia protests, voice tight, but the murmurs drown her out. She looks to you, desperation flickering in her eyes. You step forward, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder. “We’ll figure this out,” you promise, determination hardening your chest.

Together, you retrace her steps. You talk to witnesses, inspect storage areas, and gather fragments of the truth. Slowly, patterns emerge: footprints that don’t match her, signs of forced entry, and suspicious behavior from a younger survivor trying to prove themselves.

Back in the square, the settlement gathers again. Alicia stands quietly, her expression tense but resolute. You take a deep breath, stepping forward with the evidence. “These footprints don’t match Alicia’s,” you announce, holding up a small map showing the path and evidence of tampering. “And the torn lock here? Someone wanted to frame her.”

The crowd murmurs, doubt replacing anger. Alicia’s eyes meet yours, gratitude shining through the fatigue. The accused young survivor stammers, caught in the lie. Alicia steps forward, voice steady. “I didn’t take them. But we can use this as a lesson—trust each other, don’t jump to conclusions.”

The tension finally eases, though a few wary glances remain. You walk beside Alicia as she exhales, the weight of suspicion lifting slightly. “Thank you,” she whispers.