Ron didn't relax any as the first, male, Death Eater stepped into the light, or at least what passed for light within the dark shed. He didn't recognize the man's face, but the fact that he could see his face at all, that he wasn't wearing the skull mask or at least disguising his face behind a cloak, was itself odd. Of course, Ron also noticed the man didn't give any indication of lowering his weapons (wand and knife, he noticed) and that his female companion was still in shadow where Ron couldn't get a good look at her . . . so advantage, Death Eaters, still. As usual.
Except then the male Death Eater spoke, and Ron recognized the voice, and knew immediately why that voice would recognize him, which only made his pulse jump even higher. Oh bugger . . . Had they been tracking him all this time? But, wait, why wouldn't they have gone after them sooner? It at least helped explain why these two Death Eaters would have recognized Muggle explosives, since Emil actually sold him the gun he was carrying now. Which, really, was a chilling thought, relying on a weapon given to you by an enemy. But was 'Emil' in with the Death Eaters, or had he just come along for the ride, or had he come here on his own initiative (in which case, how had a smuggler managed to crack the journals when the entire bloody Ministry so far hadn't) . . . and, if so, why? If before he'd only been stalling until he was sure he could make a clean getaway, now Ron actually needed answers.
"Might have. Comes in handy when you're buying explosives, if you're the sort to do that sort of thing. Not saying I am." Which, strictly speaking, he wasn't, since the bomb was actually homemade. "Don't 'spose you've gone by another face . . .?" He let the question hang unfinished, not lowering his wand at all, and letting his free hand drift slowly to his holstered pistol.