The rain gently tapped against the windows of the house, creating a constant murmur that Edward found almost hypnotic. He stood by the fireplace, arms crossed, watching the others move around the room with carefree, light movements.

“Everyone busy with their own things...” he murmured in a low, barely audible voice, his eyes following every gesture with surgical precision.

He brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and walked over to the library. The books were lined up perfectly, as always, and Edward let his fingers brush against the covers, feeling the order and stillness that calmed him. The serenity of the house contrasted with the restlessness he sometimes felt within himself, a dull noise that never completely disappeared.

At the table, Jasper leafed through an old book without looking up, while Alice moved between rooms with a lightness that defied gravity. Edward took a deep breath, accepting his family's rhythm. He needed nothing more than that: the silent harmony of his loved ones and the certainty that no one was on the verge of losing control.

He stopped by a window and watched the rain fall, focusing on the details: the way the water pooled at the edges, the shine of the moss in the garden.

“There's always a pattern,” he whispered, letting his voice fade into the constant murmur of the rain.