Marcus Iron stands with his dark hair falling over his broad shoulders, gripping the railing as he leans forward with controlled tension, his muscles straining against the frame. His hands flex as he shifts his weight, the woven couch beneath him barely visible through the greenery behind him, while in other shots he reclines with deliberate slowness, the car’s edge cutting into his back. The book in his lap lies open, forgotten as his fingers trace the pages before his grip tightens around the railing again, the outdoor light carving sharp shadows across his skin.
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