The night is dark, but the Crows are darker.
They all look the same - tall and slender, very pale, dark eyes and ink-black hair, all straight lines and angles. When they're turned you can't tell the difference between a Crow and a crow.
Glorfindel's own initiation did something similar, but instead of making him a Crow it made him a Grizzly, tall and muscular and strong. Being surrounded by Grizzlies is like being surrounded by family; being surrounded by Crows is like being on an alien planet.
Really, though, he's just grateful that he wasn't shot on sight - the streets between 17th and 25th are technically disputed territory, but the Crows have control there at the moment and a Grizzly really shouldn't be wandering at night. But the two Crows who found him either felt like being nice today or didn't want a shootout tomorrow, so instead of lying in the gutter Glorfindel is sitting quietly in a locked room, people he'd normally be aiming a gun at watching him through the windows, in the heart of Crow land.
In the room with him is a Crow boy, younger than the others Glorfindel's seen. He looks about nineteen, Glorfindel's own age, and while most Crows have eyes so dark it looks like the iris is just a continuation of the pupil, this boy's are a warm, deep brown. His hair is swept into a braid that's falling out, and his hands are held in his pockets. If he's in here to watch Glorfindel he isn't doing a very good job; he hasn't looked over at him once so far.
Glorfindel sits on the floor next to the boy's chair and quietly watches him.
He'd never thought a Crow could be beautiful.