She can feel it— like grabbing onto a handhold and slipping all in one breath— every time Cortana's mind oscillates back and forth between refusal and trepidation. Like waves hitting the shoreline, some distant echo of a real, tangible disturbance.

Sombra shakes it off a beat later, already pressing ahead towards grim carnage.

"And you're sure what we're going through now is different."

That this isn't some strange offshoot of the Flood.