Will did not answer. He simply watched him quietly, his silver-gray eyes devoid of emotion, as though he were looking at a broken toy.
Ranrok sensed something was wrong.
But he had no time to think it through. His feet were still trapped in solidified stone, and the runes on his boots were giving off a shrill hum.
Gritting his teeth, he thrust both arms outward. Dark red light flared across his armor, like a crimson sun rising in the dim hall.
The solidified stone cracked in the light and crumbled to powder. Ranrok pulled his feet free of the rubble.
He retreated a few steps, putting some distance between himself and Will.
"Who are you, really?" Ranrok's voice had lost its earlier taunting edge, taking on a note of wariness instead. "No teenage wizard could be this good at Transfiguration. You're no ordinary student. Your Transfiguration is even better than that of the professors at Hogwarts."
Will did not answer.
Ranrok narrowed his eyes. "Where did you come from? Who sent you? The Ministry of Magic?"
Still, Will did not answer.
Ranrok was infuriated. He was not a patient man. He was accustomed to solving problems with force, making opponents submit through fear, and silencing enemies with death.
"It doesn't matter if you won't talk," he said. The runes on his arms lit up again, dark red light flowing like blood from his shoulders to his fingertips. "Once I catch you and pry your mouth open, you'll tell me everything."
He moved like a bolt of dark red lightning, vanishing from his spot and appearing before Will a moment later.
His right hand clenched into a fist. The runes on his Bracers blazed, and his fist drove toward Will's face, wreathed in dark red flames of light—his Bracers were