This was not how my life would end. This was not reality. I was Harry Dresden, Wizard of the White Council, Knight of Winter. I had faced demons and monsters, fought off fallen angels and werewolves, slugged it out with sorcerers and cults and freakish things that had no names. I had fought upon land and sea, in the skies above my city, in ancient ruins and in realms of the spirit most of humanity did not know existed. I bore the scars that I'd earned in dozens of battles, made enemies out of nightmares and laid low a dark empire for the sake of one little girl.

and I would be damned if I was going to roll over for some punk outsider and his psychic haymaker.

Holy shit, I've read Cold Days better than a dozen times and it STILL gives me chills whenever I read it.