Free of fingers digging into her spine and rooting her in place, Clarke takes several quick steps out of easy arm's reach, which brings her a lot closer to Darcy — like ducking gunfire magnetically draws you towards something stable and shielding. There's a brief look of absolute insult (me? start things I can't finish? never) but no outward argument. Her shoulders remain high and hunched, not quite free of the sensation of being trapped.

Sometimes intervention is the best exit point though. So casting a flat, haughty look back at Nobunaga, and giving Darcy a nod — acknowledgement, agreement with her sentence, thanks — she'll subsequently move to exit the conversation entirely. And the club gathering, making a languid beeline for the stairs with carefully measured steps.