By Sunrise, Rome was already moving. Carts complained against stone. Dockworkers rolled barrels from ships. Shopkeepers opened shutters. Messengers slipped through crowds with scrolls tucked underneath their arms. Somewhere above all of it, a merchant stood on a balcony and admired what he believed was growth. He had recently received the most important cargo of his season. Olive oil. Dyed fabrics. Glass. Spices.