Edward isn't sure what he's supposed to say or do at that.

Hold Carlisle close, because he dove in for, requested Edward to come to him for -- whatever it was or why; let him pull back, when he does -- Edward's hands slipping their iron purchase, weightless in shock, to let Carlisle move himself, to settle at his sides.

One falling away at the knife sharp confusion and suspicion and whyhowwhat could have. When brittle silence, more so all along the insides of him than in the lack of speech, is the only answer.