It's been quiet, Crow thinks. But quiet doesn't mean safe.
That monstrosity has been slowly ripping apart ducts and framework. Systematically, one by one, working its way deeper and deeper into the nest of ventilation shafts. It knows he's here, and it knows he can't run. It's an inevitable outcome--he can hide, but eventually, there's not going to be anywhere left he can shelter himself. The moment he's exposed is the moment it closes on him.
His suspicions are confirmed when he hears it whisper. Once again, it acts as though it's right upon him, but he knows better. It's the same game it's been playing for hours, now. It's trying to bait him--trying to make him make a noise, any noise, so it knows where he's hiding. He's lucky the insulation is working in his favor, here. If its hearing is anything like actual owls, it could probably hear his heartbeat without it. Even so, he figures if he moves, if he makes a single goddamn sound, he's dead.
He hazards checking his phone, hoping that the tapping doesn't alert it. Nothing new. It's been nine hours. That hunter should be getting here soon, right? ...Right? There was that brief interlude, around a half-hour ago, where it sounded like the thing's interest was drawn away for a bit. Long enough to make a kill, if what he saw earlier was any indication. He's got to hope that wasn't her, or his goose is cooked.
He hears it start to whisper again, but it's interrupted by a scream. A yell in surprise, he'd figure--and it's cut off quick by a meaty thunk, followed by another loud thump, like something heavy hitting the concrete. It's quiet for a few seconds.
Then there's a knock. A polite knock, three quick taps. Right on the paneling in front of him, inches away from his face.