There's a clipped exhale on Sombra's end once someone else's gunfire cuts cleanly through her nearest adversary - something that hinges on relief, rather than stress. As the rest of the would-be (and still current) assailants scatter like cockroaches to pool in deeper shadows, her attention shifts upwards, taking in the sight of South Dakota's recognizable armor.

The nod's returned with interest; attention piqued.

"Hey."

How impossibly casual for their current situation.