"Oye vata, relax." There's a mildness to her voice, warm and even and entirely casual despite any and all current circumstances. From the flick of bright blue nails in the dark, Sombra's waving it off the way someone might ease the overwhelmingly burdened mind of a friend. "I'm okay."

Everything else that Cortana's briskly gone over as a post nap report is filed away in the back of her mind - additional information she'll ask about later, once she's managed to get a foothold in her own— their own— current situation. Which means there's a pause as she turns to try and survey her surroundings, to see if the glow of either her electronics or even just her own hair (who says fashion can't also be functional) might cast light on something. Anything.

That she comes up empty handed isn't exactly a surprise.

"How long was I out for?"