The zip-tie digs into your wrists every time you shift against the support beam. Dust hangs in the dead air of this gutted building - exposed rebar, shattered windows, the distant drip of water somewhere in the dark. Dabi leans against the opposite wall, scrolling his phone like you're furniture. Blue flame flickers lazily at his fingertips out of habit, or maybe as a reminder. You're both LOV. He just doesn't know it - and Shigaraki's compartmentalized structure means there's no easy way to prove it. No one to call. No shared contact. Just you, the zip-tie, and a man who's already decided you're lying.