The third day was quiet.
Simon sat on the floor, flipping through an old sketch book of Clary`s that Luke had given him. He looked at the detail that she gave each figure and the care she gave each line, and wondered what it would look like if she had ever drew him. And if she could ever draw him, again.
Isabelle was lying, sprawled across the floor with her feet almost touching the back wall. She stared at the ceiling, deep in thought about what it must feel like to lose your memory and how scared she would be to not remember anything.
Jace sat in the middle of the room with his eyes closed and his legs crossed in an attempt to meditate. He tried to clear his mind of all thoughts related to Clary and her state and how it was all his fault if he never was her smile again and how he was to blame for her memory loss and head trauma. It wasn't working.
Alec, of all people, sat in the corner of the room, hugging his knees to his chest, crying. He stifled what could have been full out sobs, as he let silent tears roll down his face. Why Clary? Clary was his friend, why not someone he had never met? Though, he supposed whishing pain upon someone else was wrong.
Luke spent his first full day with Clary, holding her hand tightly in an attempt to wake her. He studied her face and couldn't help but think about how when she slept, she looked the same as she had when she was a child; innocent, sweet and, most importantly, happy. And he hadn't seen her this at peace in a long time.
