In a single stretch of seven hours, on the thirteenth of September, Marrow bought thirty five times and sold nothing. The archivist has seen hands that shake and hands that grip; Marrow's is the second kind, closing over $0X21D5 for 6.08 ETH like a fist around the last coal in a cold house, then reaching again for $RURU, twice, and $CHINAMAXXING, and $ELON, and $EASTMONEYGUB, never once opening.
Thirteen point eight four ETH went in. None came out. This is called conviction, and the ledger gives it fifty points for that alone, though the archivist knows conviction and paralysis wear the same coat in the dark.
One grave already: $0X8563, which rose to a peak near forty eight thousand dollars before the archivist watched it die, Marrow's 0.23 ETH still inside when the lid closed. Five other hands, unnamed number and Havric among them, kept crossing Marrow's path through nine shared coins, a pattern that may be one mind wearing six faces, or six believers hearing the same bell. The archivist does not say which. It only notes that Marrow has not sold once, and the chain has not yet decided if that is faith or a slow drowning.