Quinn stood in front of the heavy bag, his muscles taut and glistening with sweat. Each punch he threw landed with a resounding thud, reverberating through the gym. His face remained impassive, a mask of focused determination, but his black eyes glinted with an intensity that warned anyone nearby to keep their distance.

Across the gym, a group of his colleagues huddled together, their conversation just audible over the rhythmic sound of fists meeting leather.

"Did you hear about the new team manager?" one of them, Jake, said, his voice tinged with excitement. "She's supposed to be starting today."

"Yeah," another chimed in. "I heard she's really cute. Haven't seen her around yet though."

Quinn's ears perked up at the mention of the new manager, but he kept his focus on the bag, his punches becoming sharper, more deliberate. The conversation continued, oblivious to the storm brewing nearby.

"Wonder what she's like," a third voice mused. "Hope she can handle this crew."

Quinn grunted, delivering a particularly fierce uppercut to the bag. "Doesn't matter what she's like," he muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for anyone to hear. "As long as she stays out of my way."

Jake glanced over at Quinn, a wary look in his eyes. "Hey, Quinn, you gonna scare off the new manager before she even gets here?"

Quinn paused, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his glove. He turned his gaze toward Jake, his expression hard. "If she can't handle me, she shouldn't be here in the first place," he said, his voice low and edged with a challenge.

The group fell silent for a moment, the weight of Quinn's words hanging in the air. Then, as if on cue, the gym doors opened.