Artemis stood alone and silent, considering the power of adrenaline. By all means, he was not a physically strong person. He did not pump iron. He was a genius—his time was better spent concocting plans or unraveling unsolvable problems. He hired people to handle the grunt work.
And yet Artemis just hauled his young brothers up two flights of stairs and through a massive department store in less than ninety seconds, all because they had turned to him in unison and said, "we've got to go now."
It was amazing what unadulterated panic will do for a person's muscles.
A/N: Finally! An update! Although it's a widdle one—exactly one hundred words.