“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Thomas said, when I finished the briefing. “Have you seen her yet?”

I scowled. “Seen who?”

“You tell me,” he said.

“Just you and Molly,” I said.

He gave me a look of profound disappointment, and shook his head.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said.

“You’re alive,” he said. “You owe it to her to go see her.”

“Maybe when this is done,” I said.

“You might be dead by then,” he said. “Empty night, Harry. Didn’t your little adventure in the lake teach you a damned thing?”

I scowled some more. “Like what?”

“Like life is short,” he said. “Like you don’t know when it’s going to end. Like some things, left unsaid, can’t ever be said.” He sighed. “I’m a freaking vampire, man. I rip out pieces of people’s souls and eat them, and make them happy to have it happen.”

I didn’t say anything. That was what my brother was. He was more than that, too, but it would have been stupid to deny that part of him.

“I’m mostly a monster,” he said. “And even I know that she deserves to hear you tell her you love her. Even if she never gets anything more than that.”

I frowned. “Wait. Who are we talking about here?”

Jim Butcher, The Dresden Files: Cold Days.
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