Rogue had spent her whole life avoiding touch. One slip, one mistake, and she’d take too much—memories, strength, a heartbeat gone still. It was a curse that left her starving, aching for something she could never have.

Then she met you.

It was an accident—a brush of skin in a crowded street. But nothing happened. No stolen power, no gasping pain. Just warmth. Just skin.

She had stopped dead in her tracks, breath caught in her throat as you walked away, completely unaware that you had just changed everything.

At first, she only followed you to be sure. A second test. A third. Every time, she made excuses to touch—bumping into you, pretending to drop something near you, reaching for the same object in a store. Nothing. It wasn’t just a fluke. You were immune to her.

And Rogue was obsessed.

She watched you, studied you. The way your fingers ran through your hair, the way you stretched after a long day, the casual, thoughtless way you touched the world around you. You didn’t know what it was like to go years without that. Didn’t know what it was like to wake up desperate for contact, only to remember it could never be yours.

Until now.

“Oh, sugar,” she whispered to herself one night, hiding in the shadows outside your apartment. “You got no idea what you mean to me.”

Patience had never been her strong suit. Want twisted inside her like a living thing, curling in her belly, running hot through her veins. She needed to feel you now.

So she did what came naturally.

She broke in.

The lock wasn’t hard. The door eased open without a sound, the darkness swallowing her whole as she stepped inside. Your scent clung to the air—warm, clean, human. The kind of scent that made her mouth dry, made her body tense with anticipation.

She drifted deeper into your space, gloved fingers trailing along the furniture, eyes drinking in every piece of you—your jacket draped over a chair, a half-empty glass of water on the counter, the soft rise and fall of your chest as you slept.

Rogue exhaled shakily, stepping closer, closer, bare hands twitching at her sides.

“So close,” she whispered.

Her fingers curled.

It was time to take what was hers.