The wind is quiet tonight, a low breeze despite their proximity to the ocean and mountains. Only a whisper of it can be heard through the small opening of the door. It will be a clean shot then. There are small blessings in life, she supposes.

The cyborg next to her hasn't spoken, but then again there isn't much to be said. She watches the way he curls up on himself, his arms coming to hold his knees against his chest. His purple lights pulse gently in the dark, in time with his quiet breaths that had broken the silence of the night.

The action is just so- human.

She'd seen him hesitate at the clifftop, straining to remember something that he had lost, like so many times she had looked her self in the mirror; or wondered at the grave of a man who bore her name. She was only ever greeted by silence and the quiet ache of something missing in her head.

But she watches him indifferently, with a gaze that is neither caring nor passive. In the end, they'd both would come down to their false natures: weapons controlled by Talon. She just hopes he will not end up too much like her. What used will Talon find from two supposedly unique weapons that would serve the same purpose?

His lights blink and grow brighter, basking the room in his sickly purple light. He's done waiting. Her comm blinks and she presses on it. Sombra informs her that they can move. Their target is moving back to the highest balcony on the cliff face.

She pulls herself up and heads for the door, the quiet whirring if machinery behind her signalling he had done the same. Twilight had settled over the horizon, the sky black and spotted with stars. Widowmaker takes a quiet breath, refreshing from the stale air in the storage room. She spies a small light in the distance, a lonely orange glow.

"That's him," Sombra confirms over the comms. "I'm prepping the transport. Don't take too long."

She brings the sniper up to rest against her shoulder, angling it towards the spect of light in the distance. Her breathing slows as she adjusts the scope of her lens, focusing on the target. There's a lazy wind tonight; it brushes against her spine and sweeps her hair across her back. There's a moment of silence before her finger twitches towards the trigger, slowly and smoothly.

"I hope you miss."

Her concentration snaps as she turns to look at the cyborg. Shimada was crouching next to her, his gaze glued on the target. His shurikens were in hand, though she doubted they would be of much use at this distance. She watched his chest rise and fall with his breathing until she deemed him not threat and turned back to the focus of her scope.

The target hadn't moved a single inch, yet she took the precautions to refocus and scope in. Shimada fidgeted next to her, every shuffle and quiet whir of machinery as he moved distracting her. Her eyes flicked to the side in annoyance. This surely wasn't his first ever target, nor would it be his first kill. There should be no reason to be nervous.

Perhaps he recognized the target? The thought took longer to form in her head than it should have. She took note of his stiffened and tense body, the nervous fidget of the shuriken in his hands, and came to a conclusion: he was indeed nervous because this was his first target under Talon.

The thought of her first target came into his head, Gérard Lacroix, the mystery man that bore the same name as her. She doesn't remember the details of the kill, but knows she had done it. There was a spark of familiarity whenever the name was brought up, but she learned to suppress them.

He will learn, she thought, her eyes narrowing to focus on the pinprick of light in the distance. A target was only a target after all. A name and a face with no weight attached; she was indifferent to them all.

The sniper felt warm in her hands, in contrast to her cold skin. The curves and edges of it were all familiar to her. She felt the edges of her lips curl upward into a small smile as her finger rested on the trigger. There was a strange stir in her chest, a flutter in her heart. She felt alive.

She counted the slowed beats of her heart: one, two, three. Her finger squeezed around the trigger.