Certainty is a flighty ideal; some days concrete and apparent and immovable like a rock, some days more like water one attempts to cup in their hands only to have it leak through fingers.

One thing for certain, however; Clarke absolutely frickin' detests the fact he had managed to rattle her and then proceeded to just try to walk away. That's her move, and It cannot stand. So as he moves, she cranes around in her seat and calls:

"Hey, Bash?"