He's right about that at least: she doesn't want him dead, and if she had, things would have gone— well, mostly differently.

Still, the important thing to remember is that she is invested in his well-being at the moment, and it doesn't take more than a handful of seconds for Sombra to throw her translocator and teleport to where he's broken through, covering his exit with a wide spray of bullets. Focused as he is, Sombra doesn't argue, doesn't direct him as they continue to tread water against the tide without any sign of it slowing. The corridor narrows, claustrophobic and pitch dark.

For a long time, even the glow of her circuitry doesn't do the trick.

But when it finally relents— breaks back out into open air and cool moonlight— it's as quick as snapping on a light. Tropical forestation, tall trees, silence. Sombra warily flicks her attention around, panting.

"Well that's...helpful."