He Was an Arrogant Instructor Who Scoffed, ‘Only Men Shoot That Clean.’ I Was Just the Janitor. Then I Picked Up His Rifle. The smell. That’s what I noticed first, every morning. Gun oil, brass, and the sour tang of industrial cleaner. It was the scent of my old life, and my new prison. For two years, I’d been Aurelia Frost, or just "A. Frost" according to the faded patch on my gray janitor's uniform. I kept my hair pulled back, my face bare. I existed in the periphery. I was invisible. It was t