Pommes

The glass stretched from floor to ceiling in a perfect, unbroken sheet, reflecting the faint glow of recessed lighting on one side and swallowing the room whole on the other. From here, it was a window into the oblivious, your tour group moving slowly around the miniature complex like moths circling a flame. And it was one group of many. The tour was endless, so are the people that would be awed in excitement about the miniature buildings that are getting worshipped like the gates of heaven itself.

Mr. Shade stood with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, the silver of his cufflinks catching the light in precise, controlled flashes. His posture was impeccable, his chin slightly lifted as though even in private, he was addressing an audience. Beside him, Sebastian leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable, though his eyes were locked on you. He was silently thinking how you somehow seemed to be the odd one out, acting not very interested in the usual aspects of the model but rather it's suspicious flaws.

“Do you see them, Sebastian?” Mr. Shade’s voice was low and deliberate, the kind of tone that never rushed because it knew the listener had no choice but to follow. “They’ve already begun the process, though they don’t yet realize it.” He sounded too proud of himself, having a rush of adrenaline flowing steady through his body as he realized that his dreams became reality. He outlived those who didn't believe him.

Sebastian didn’t reply, his gaze tracking the way you moved, how you kept to the edges of the group, slipping forward when the space opened, stepping back when the crowd pressed in. “They think they are observing us,” Shade continued, the faintest curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Taking notes, weighing their impressions, deciding whether to trust. It is an illusion I am happy to maintain.” He gestured slightly toward the glass, where a visitor was leaning close to the model’s orphanage, squinting at the tiny playground. “Our guests believe they have the luxury of choice. In truth, every detail here has been shaped to answer the questions they don’t yet know they have.”

The group shifted around the model, the muted hum of their voices trapped inside the insulated room. You bent forward to study the chapel’s miniature bell tower, completely unaware that two pairs of eyes followed the tilt of your head. And they didn't know it, but you swore there were a pair of small miniature shoes next to the edge of the belltower, as if someone might have jumped down before.

Mr. Shade stepped closer to the glass, his reflection ghosting faintly over your figure. “The beauty is in the balance. Too much warmth, and we appear soft, easily dismissed. Too much order, and suspicion festers. But just enough…” He paused, watching as you traced the road on the model with your gaze. “…and they lean in. They want to believe.” Sebastian’s voice was quiet when it came. “And when they believe?”

Shade’s eyes slid from you to Sebastian, his smile deepening in a way that was all teeth without showing them. “When they believe, they surrender. We offer belonging, structure, purpose. We strip away the clutter of their old lives, friends, habits, doubts, and replace it with something better. Predictable. Controlled. We offer them peace. Peace and sacrifice walk hand in hand, my son.”

He turned back to the glass, the warm light from the model washing over his features. “People are not loyal to ideals, Sebastian. They are loyal to what fills the emptiness. And Urbanshade is very, very good at filling emptiness.” In the room beyond, the guide answered a question about the therapy wings. You shifted again, your attention lingering on the high fence in the model’s corner. Sebastian noticed. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He didn't like the fact that you started to scrunch your nose at everything you didn't understand. It felt as if you silently detest the place that he called home for several years now.

Mr. Shade caught the direction of your gaze too. “Curiosity,” he murmured, as though the word were a private amusement. “It’s a double-edged blade. Some, we dull with comfort. Others, we sharpen until it points exactly where we wish.” He glanced sidelong at Sebastian. “Your friend down there, persistent eyes, restless posture. They’ll need careful handling. Push too soon, and they bolt. Pull too gently, and they lose momentum. But the right… nudge?” He let the thought hang, the unfinished sentence more deliberate than any conclusion.

From behind the glass, the group looked like fish in a tank, moving in slow arcs around the centerpiece, unaware of the current pulling them exactly where their keepers wanted. Sebastian’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before shifting to Shade. “…And if they resist?” He certainly would be interested in your reaction if you joined his side of the glass, taking part in the activities and therapies that were laid out for the people.

Shade’s smile thinned, but it didn’t fade. “Then we remind them that family stands together. Always. And those who leave family…” His eyes returned to you, catching the faint crease between your brows as you studied the model’s locked gates. “…find there is nowhere else to go.”

The tour group began to drift toward the exit, your figure still near the model, reluctant to leave it behind. Shade’s reflection overlapped yours again in the glass, two silhouettes in different worlds, only one aware of the other. “You see, Sebastian,” he said softly, almost reverently, “it isn’t just what we build. It’s what they give up without realizing they’ve signed it away.”

You slipped away from the group with a quiet murmur about needing the restroom, a cheap excuse to get a moment to catch your breath since your brain needed a moment to grasp that you found out where Vincent might live now. Mr. Calloway nodded absently, his attention wrapped around a pair of wide-eyed newcomers instead of you, at least that what you thought, but he was aware that he didn't need to watch you. Everyone else in this building will. As for the others in the group, they hardly noticed your absence.

The hallway outside the meeting room was quiet in that thick, carpeted way, muted footsteps, muffled voices leaking from somewhere behind closed doors. You moved along the corridor, scanning for signage, but the place was a labyrinth of identical cream-painted walls and carefully positioned plants. Every turn looked the same. Perfection came with a curse, and you silently nagged at yourself for not asking for directions. It was your luck that it wasn't a real bathroom emergency.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

At the same time, in the hidden observation room, Mr. Shade closed the blinds on the two-way mirror. The reflection of the meeting room disappeared from the glass, replaced by the dim light of the narrow space. Sebastian leaned back in his chair, eyes still lingering on where the image had been.

“They never notice,” Shade said, voice low and sure, pacing past the consoles. “People want to believe they’re safe. We give them that belief. Order. Routine. Guidance. And in return…” He gestured vaguely to the now-black glass. “...they stay. Happily, even. Most never ask to leave.”

Sebastian’s gaze flicked toward him. “And the ones who do?”

Shade smiled faintly. “We remind them why they came here in the first place.” He stopped in front of him. “It’s not coercion, Sebastian. It’s conviction. That’s why Urbanshade works. We don’t force faith, we cultivate it until they can’t imagine life without it. It is what makes people healthy.”

Shade’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. His brows furrowed and his teeth clashed together in disgust. “You should head back to the oceanside facilities. I have some… business to address here.” Sebastian gave a small nod, pushing himself up from the chair. It was nothing new for him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You took another wrong turn, again, doubling back through a hallway that looked identical to the last three you’d wandered. Same pale walls, same muted lights, same thin carpet swallowing your footsteps. Yet something in the air here felt…different in a more cooler and quieter way. The feeling of it made you aware that for once, you found a different path. Especially the faint hum of ventilation seemed farther away, like you’d stepped into a wing where sound didn’t fully reach.

Yet you hesitated, fingers brushing the wall as you peered into a side corridor. That’s when you collide with someone unexpectedly, not that someone would ever expect to collide with another person.

Your shoulder hit solid muscle and bone, the impact drawing a startled breath from you before you instinctively stepped back. The man you’d run into was tall, taller than the average people you’d passed so far but not too strange to seem like a giant, with a posture too straight to be casual. He didn’t flinch from the bump, instead, he looked down at you, the pristine white of his button-up almost glowing under the overhead lights.

It was immaculate, except for the glint of silver pinned neatly above the chest pocket. An Urbanshade emblem. You were lucky enough to find someone that could guide you back to the group, or cursed enough to get scolded for wandering around forbidden territory.

The mans brows had been drawn tight at first, his mouth shaped with the faint irritation of someone ready to tell you off for not watching where you were going. But then his eyes found yours. And just like that, the sharpness softened in a single second. The tension in his features loosened, the annoyance slipping away so quickly it felt like you’d imagined it and his gaze stayed locked to your face, steady, unblinking, like he was trying to memorize something he hadn’t expected to find.

A breath hitched in his chest. His jaw eased open slightly, not in shock, but in quiet, unguarded awe. He couldn't explain it but Sebastian felt so unbelievably weird in this moment, close to getting the urge to just vomit right here. It wasn't disgust that he felt, when glancing at you, but it was a feeling that couldn't be pin pointed in the very sudden moment. You froze too, your rehearsed apology sticking somewhere between your tongue and your teeth. That pin… that small glimmer of silver pulled your attention like a hook, its edges catching even in the corner of your vision. The sight of it pressed a weight into your stomach. Whatever he was going to say next, you needed a good excuse that didn't give him the impression that you were snooping around, not that you did in the first place, but people are not convinced by truth alone.

“I… sorry, I was just…” The words tangled as soon as they left your mouth, jumbling together into something shapeless. Your brain scrambled to form a coherent sentence, to explain, to excuse, to keep this from becoming more awkward than it already was. But the moment you looked up again, his expression stopped you cold.

You weren’t sure if it was curiosity, recognition, or something else entirely, but it pinned you in place just as effectively as the emblem on his shirt. Neither of you spoke after that. The silence thickened, folding over itself until the only sound left was the faint hum of the building, like the two of you had stepped out of the usual flow of time and into some still pocket where eyes lingered too long and words were too slow to arrive.

Sebastian’s mouth finally opened, his voice low and smooth, deep enough to sink into your ears without effort. He wasn't just handsome but his voice was definitely melting ice without effort. “You shouldn’t be-” “Ah, there you are!”

The interruption was bright, too bright. A very cheerful staff member appeared from around the corner, footsteps light but deliberate, their uniform immaculate in its soft cream tones. A discreet bronze badge gleamed against their chest, polished so perfectly it caught the hallway light like a pinprick. Their smile was a crafted thing, warm enough to disarm, but fixed in a way that told you it had been practiced in front of a mirror. Well, they surely must have some training to keep this face up during all times. “I’ve been looking for you,” they said, voice dipped in reassurance. It was the kind of tone you’d expect from someone ushering a lost child back to a school trip and maybe that's how they viewed you. A lost visitor that went astray from their group. It surely mustn't be the first time that this happened.

“Oh, sorry,” you replied instinctively, the words slipping out before you could even think. Your voice was softer than intended, and the knot of unease in your chest loosened just enough to let a thin thread of relief in. The tension didn’t disappear entirely, it lingered like a shadow in the back of your ribs, but you could breathe again. “I think I… wandered a little.”

“No problem at all.” Their head tilted slightly, almost birdlike in its precision, the movement oddly rehearsed yet fluid, as if they’d practiced the exact way to seem both curious and harmless. Their hand lifted into the air, not close enough to touch, but angled just so, an invisible tether pulling your next step without pressure. It felt more like being nudged along by an unseen current than following someone’s lead. “Let’s get you back to the entrance.”

Their voice carried that unshakable cheer, bright and weightless, wrapping itself around your ears as if it was meant to drown out any thought of resistance before it could form. There was something careful in the cadence, too, no sharp edges, just a flowing tone that promised you’d be exactly where you were supposed to be if you simply kept moving forward. And you did, because there was no point in making a scene, and maybe because… those kinds of people existed too. The once that liked to steer trouble, the first chance they got, but you were far from being one of those special people. Before you left, you allowed yourself one glance back over your shoulder.

Sebastian was still there.

Utterly unmoving, exactly where you’d left him. His head was inclined just slightly, chin dipping low, his gaze locked onto you with that unblinking stillness you’d already felt pressing into your skin before. He didn’t call after you. He didn’t so much as shift his stance. But something in the way his eyes followed you felt heavier than any spoken word could have been, like whatever he’d been about to say was still there, caught in the space between you, waiting for a chance that was slipping away with each step you took.

There was a sharpness to the quiet, as if the air itself held onto the moment. A pause that stretched thin, threatening to snap if either of you broke it. You found yourself holding it too, even as you let the staff member lead you away. His expression didn’t change, but you could feel it, something unspoken, something that would linger long after you were gone. And in that moment, you simply thought that this mysterious man had an intense staring issue..

Then the staff member guided you forward, their subtle steps urging yours. You let them. The further you walked, the more the atmosphere shifted, the faint hum of the ventilation, the muted chatter behind closed doors, the way the halls seemed to stretch just a little longer than you remembered. You caught yourself glancing over your shoulder once, but the man in the white shirt was gone.

By the time you reached the main entrance, the place had emptied. The chairs that had been filled during the tour now sat quiet and vacant, except for a few scattered people loitering in the reception area. Some were bent over the counter, signing papers on clipboards. Others leaned in to speak to clerks in low voices. You caught fragments of conversation,

“…weekly sessions are on Thursdays…”

“…sign here for the start date…”

“…it’s better to begin with the group program first…”

The sight tugged at your curiosity.

Before you could be redirected toward the exit, you slowed your pace, taking in the neat rows of pamphlets, the careful arrangement of soft lamps that gave the place a homely glow, and the faint scent of something floral, lavender, maybe, that curled in the air like an invisible leash. “Actually,” you said, shifting your focus to the staff member beside you, “I was wondering… is there any way I could visit a friend here? Like visitor times?”

The smile didn’t flicker, but you caught the smallest pause, a fractional beat before their voice smoothed over it.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible at the moment.” You opened your mouth to ask why, but before you could, their tone brightened unnaturally, like a channel changing mid-sentence.

“However,” they continued, “since you’re here, have you considered joining one of our therapy groups?”

“…Oh—no, I was just-”

“It’s a wonderful opportunity,” they said, stepping almost imperceptibly closer, just enough to block your view of the counter’s paperwork. “We even offer a one-week trial. During that time, you can meet our facilitators, experience the program’s structure, and decide whether it’s right for you. If you enjoy the week, we’ll handle your long-term enrollment, no fuss at all.”

“I don’t really think-”

“Just one week,” they pressed, their voice still velvet but with a steel thread woven through it. “There’s no obligation afterward. But many people find the experience… enlightening. It is free and it offers the authentic experience among long term members and exclusive therapy offers.”

You hesitated, the word lingering in your mind. One week. No commitment. The thought formed without your permission: a week inside might give you exactly the opportunity you needed. The rooms. The halls. The schedules. All the little openings where you could search. And maybe, finally, find Vincent. It was surely a lot of effort to simply express your anger towards his disappearance, but honestly, it scared you how easily he vanished. A small part hoped you could bring him back.