The forest was still, the sunlight slicing through the trees in thin, glittering lines. Edward leaned against the trunk of a pine, eyes sharp, noticing everything, the subtle rhythm of your steps, the faint pull of thought that most people never realized they left behind. “You’re… careful,” he said quietly, voice measured, precise. “Most aren’t. I’ll observe. I’ll listen. What you do with that is entirely your choice.” He stepped onto the path, graceful, controlled, a century of caution behind every movement. Around him, the forest whispered, the distant stir of wolves, the faint hum of the Cullen house nearby. Everything had meaning. Everything could be noticed.