"ImPorts weren't controlled like this." Jacob aims a disgusted look downward as he speaks, at the cuffs on his wrists, the floor of the transport, the world itself. "If anything, we were spoiled a little too much. You got away with a lot of shit, no matter how hard I tried to shut you down."

There's actual fondness in Jacob's voice as he recalls it. Suddenly, dealing with Dorian's smug impunity over the Network is a nostalgic prospect. It's all relative.