Carlisle's body stiffens as Kate's voice rings out; he almost turns as she says his name, but utter shame for his appearance keeps his back to her. He's well aware she needn't see the glow of his eyes to know just how bad of shape he's in.

"Kate," he replies softly, not the impassive greeting he's given her in their past few conversations. Shame aside, he's glad she's here -- not memorialized within the garden proper, but physicall present.