Unsurprisingly, she doesn't judge him; that much is obvious when she moves to sit upright as though he's just overturned all her perceptions, leaning in just slightly. If Sombra hadn't learned to appreciate the beauty in disaster reflected in human form, she'd never have been as content as she is standing alongside her companions.

In this moment, she is not Azúcar.

Her voice is low, careful when she asks, as if pressing her fingers against a glass case laced with safeguards: "Do you wish you could change it? What you did to them."