Chapter 11
Two days into my work as a Gray, I learned that life was measured in meals. There was breakfast, most challenging because of the early hour and complicated assortment of condiments; lunch, the easiest because hot food wasn’t served; and dinner, the longest and messiest, but the beginning of the evening and allowed for an hour of free time. But on my third day, this free hour was possessed by Cistine. She found me sitting in the meeting room, where I was trying to moisturize my chapped hands with a spoon of shortening taken from the kitchen, and demanded that I follow her to the end of the staff bunker hallway and into the elevator that Sorrel had mentioned.
“Mr. Drexin has requested your photograph,” she explained once the doors were closed.
I easily recalled Mr. Drexin as th
