"Aww...pobrecito." Sombra hums, feeling that heavy weight immediately slough right off her shoulders with every muffled snarl. There's time, at least, before she needs to bolt and finish dispensing support to the rest of the Legionnaires (if they fail in their mission, she'll have shot herself in the foot with this, after all); she seizes the opportunity to gently pat the front of his chest, and—

Oh. Hey. Souvenirs.

"Don't take it personally, vato. Between you and me? Locus made the better choice."

Pocketing a pair of those knives, she shrugs, pursing her lips in the galaxy's most charming little grin despite the fact that he likely can't see it, heading out the single exit she'd left herself and sparing a few extra seconds to lock it behind her. Later on, once they've taken care of the rest of his allies, she'll send someone back to pick him up.