[Flatly:] The only reason you're still moving is adrenaline. When that runs out, you're going to stop.

[That's really the only way to describe how it felt when his knees suddenly bent in the ruins of the Temple of Apollo; when his imagined strength ran out and he collapsed, thankfully onto the side that didn't have a knife buried up to the hilt sticking out of it. His whole body just stopped and he couldn't move--not to twitch his fingers, or even to keep his eyes open underneath a heavy shroud of pain and exhaustion.

Fugo reaches out to the door for the bookstore, pulls it open, and holds it for Stiles.]

The way you are now, sooner rather than later. The goal here is to aim for later, with the hopes that you'll run into someone who can help you more than I can with that arm before you do.