"I'm fine." Hollow words, breathed out with a raw shift in her stare towards him (he's put himself between her and the view she'd been slipping steadily into over time) but she isn't necessarily lying: the odds weren't stacked in her favor. The resources she'd carefully compiled as a safeguard against danger? Gone. Turned against her. She should have been dead or worse a hundred times over.

Normally that'd be a rush, knowing she survived— right now, all she feels are the ports along her spine and skull, aching where they've dug into her skin from impact, misuse.

Only after a few seconds does she realize the answer she'd given isn't what he'd asked, stepping in to correct herself. "I'll take care of it."

Eventually.

It's been a rough ride: including the painfully slow passage of time in a digital world— in someone else's head— Sombra can't remember the last time she was able to just...sit. Exist. Knits her fingers together and twists against the pull of gravity, staring right through him as if he was glass, unwilling to work up the willpower to pretend.

She doesn't even bring up Lena.