She cut her teeth on sparring matches with a super soldier— at the end of the day, reflexes are her arsenal: when he lashes out, Sombra just barely clears it with only the quickest catch of metal on metal where the plating at her back is nicked. Her gun's snapped up to compensate for it, putting distance between them—

But she doesn't fire. Not with curiosity (that digging itch at her spine) sparked so effectively at his unsubtle segue.

"Chorus." Sombra repeats, watching him keenly behind the barrel of her weapon, a clear invitation for him to elaborate.