[Sombra doesn't say anything to that, but the flask is taken up regardless: she pulls a long sip— no reaction to the flavor or its bitter attempt at scalding her throat (she burned years and years with Los Muertos; if she never kept pace with the best of them, she'd have never heard the end of it).
She watches him carefully out of the corner of her peripheral vision, silence all too heavy.]
no subject
She watches him carefully out of the corner of her peripheral vision, silence all too heavy.]
You cared about her, didn't you?