The parchment was posted at sunrise.
One copy pinned to the bulletin wall outside the mess hall. Another on the south gate. A third placed in the new town square under a lantern, where people gathered to read like they were seeing fire for the first time.
The Charter of The Right Arm.
Some whispered hope.
Some mumbled doubt.
But everyone read it.
And less than twenty-four hours later, we were already being tested.
Kara found the boy at the edge of the food line.
Shaky hands. Pockets too full. And one of Carol's ration books sticking out from under his coat.
She didn't slam him to the ground.
She just put a hand on his shoulder and said, "Come with me."
His name was Eli. Fifteen. From the Homestead group.
They found three stolen items in his bunk: canned beans, a cloth-wrapped knife, and a silver locket he'd taken from Graves' quartermaster table.
Theft
The room was heavier than it had been in weeks.
Graves stood by the window, arms folded. Kara beside her, silent. Carol had her hands in her lap, eyes soft with worry.
Dale broke the silence.
"We've never had a case like this. Not in the open. Not under the law."
Leah's tone was cold. "You want a trial for a thief?"
Shane growled, "He's lucky he didn't lose a hand."
Carol finally spoke. "He's a kid."
Maggie added, "But he knew what he was doing."
I stood up, the charter clutched in my fist.
"This is the test. If we ignore the law now, we'll never follow it later."
Andrea proposed a jury.
Seven people. Mixed background. Anonymous vote.
We agreed.
I picked the first five. Dale picked the other two.
No names posted. Just a sealed box outside the millhouse. Testimonies taken. Witnesses allowed.
We gave Eli a voice.
And gave ourselves a chance to prove we weren't just performing justice.
It wasn't fancy.
A circle of benches. Hershel presiding. Dale mediating. Martinez providing security.
Eli stood in the middle, hands behind his back.
He didn't cry.
Didn't beg.
Just said, "I didn't think anyone would miss it."
Carol asked, "Why?"
He looked at her like it was the first time anyone cared.
"Because no one looks at me unless I take something."
The room went silent.
Twenty-four hours passed.
Seven slips of paper pulled from the box.
Four said: Guilty – restorative justice
Two said: Guilty – exile
One said: Guilty – public work penalty
Unanimous on guilt.
Different on punishment.
That's where I stepped in.
"The charter says final voice lies with the council on first offenses," I said.
"I vote restorative justice."
Maggie agreed.
Shane grunted. "Better than exile."
Graves nodded slowly.
"Let the boy build what he tried to steal," Dale said.
So we handed him a hammer.
Eli now works under Morales, rebuilding the pantry he once stole from.
He earns double rations—but gives half to the new orphan bunk.
Every morning, he reports to Carol for chores. Every evening, he checks in with Kara and Martinez.
He's never missed a step.
But not everyone approved.
Merle muttered loud enough for others to hear: "If we're going soft on criminals now, what happens when it's worse?"
And a group of three men began meeting in the evenings.
Nothing overt.
But I heard it.
"The charter gives too much power to the wrong hands."
"They're turning it into a town of sheep."
"If they don't defend hard, someone else will."
Carl approached me that night.
"You think the law's gonna make them better?"
"No," I said. "I think it gives them a chance to choose to be."
He looked down at his boots.
"I think you made the right call."
"You do?" I asked.
He nodded. "Judith's gonna grow up under it. So will Maggie's baby. You can't protect them with instinct forever."
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