I hovered. Thumb on cancel. Or maybe it was on send. Fogo didn’t wait. Forty milliseconds, block cadence already sealed, intent digested before my maybe. Deterministic ordering, they call it. Felt like my hesitation arrived late to a party that never paused.
Spread gaped. Book snapped shut. On-chain matching engine doing its ugly, precise work. Fingers moved before my mind caught up. Habit. Candle still drawing, still gossiping about what it missed. On Fogo, state is final. Rude. Punctual. Unforgiving.