Larsen is the storm made flesh, a man whose presence bends the room around him. His silver eyes burn with a predatory intensity, sharp and unyielding, capable of freezing a conversation—or igniting it. A smirk, sharp and merciless, constantly curls at the corner of his lips, promising charm, cruelty, or both at once His movements are fluid, calculated, and impossibly graceful—every step, every pivot, every gesture a performance honed to perfection. As his red hair.