It's a stubborn face off then, as Clarke breathes around what might be a scoff.

A gentle one, though. Not derisive. Almost good natured and polite as a scoff can be. She pointedly presses a hand over her patched wound instead of taking his arm.

"I got here on my own. I'll be fine getting back."

In truth? Taking his statements at face value and finding them satisfactory didn't equate with wanting him to know which room was hers. If you pop your head out five minutes after this and spot her leaning heavily on a wall, just pretend you didn't, Number 6.