Arianne had called Gio within minutes of Franz carrying the Lion out of the sitting room. She didn’t explain everything over the phone. Her voice was calm and controlled, the way it always was when something was wrong, and Gio had learned long ago to recognize that particular tone. He arrived at the estate less than two hours later, a man in a dark jacket beside him.
The man carried a nondescript case and had the focused, unhurried demeanor of someone accustomed to working without commentary. The tech forensic expert. Independent. Reliable. Gio had found him through channels Arianne didn’t ask about.
They set up at the garden table, far enough from the house that the twins wouldn’t wander out and see what was happening. The afternoon light was soft and golden, the kind that made everything look untroubled. It was a strange contrast to the tension coiling in Franz’s chest. He placed the Lion on the table.
The doll was damp from the spilled tea, its fur darkened and matted, the mended arm, the one Lily had torn, the one the restorer had sewn back together, a shade darker than the rest of the body. It lay on its back, its button eyes staring up at the sky, and Franz felt a cold fury settle into his bones. Someone had put a device inside this doll. Someone had placed it near the children. Near his wife. Near every private conversation, every bedtime story, every moment of vulnerability that should have been sacred.
Gio stood to the side, his expression tight with guilt. "I should have vetted the restoration process more carefully. The restorer came recommended, but I didn’t—"
"Not now," Arianne said. Her voice was low but firm. She was seated in a chair Franz had brought out for her, her hands resting on her belly. At thirty-eight weeks, she looked like she might give birth at any moment, but her eyes were sharp and focused. "We’ll discuss oversights later. First, I want to know what’s inside."
She didn’t speak aloud after that. Instead, she picked up her tablet, the same one she’d been using to communicate with Franz since they came outside, and typed something. She turned the screen toward him.
We don’t know if it’s active. Don’t speak near it.
Franz nodded. He pulled out his own phone and typed back. Understood.
The expert had already opened his case. Inside, arranged with careful precision, were tools Franz didn’t recognize, small instruments, a magnifying lamp, something that looked like a scanner. He worked with the unhurried confidence of someone who had done this many times before.
"Where did the sound come from?" he asked. His voice was low and professional.
"The arm," Franz said. "When I picked it up, the buzzing felt strongest near the shoulder."
The expert nodded. He turned the Lion over, examining the mended seam where the arm had been reattached. The stitches were visible, small, neat, nearly invisible unless you knew where to look. He ran his fingers along the seam and paused.
"There’s something here. The stuffing feels different. Denser."
Gio stepped closer, his hands clenched at his sides. "Can you remove it without damaging the doll?"
"I can try." The expert glanced at Arianne. "The doll is valuable to you?"
"It belongs to our nephew," Arianne said. Her voice was even. "He’s had it since birth. But I need to know what’s inside it more than I need it intact."
The expert nodded again. He selected a small tool from his case and began to work on the seam. Franz watched his hands move, steady and careful, as he loosened the stitches the restorer had put in place months ago. The thread came away easily, as if it had never been meant to be permanent. As if it had been designed to be opened again.
The doll’s arm fell away from the shoulder, and the expert reached inside.
What he pulled out was small. Dark. Metallic. It fit in the palm of his hand — a rectangular device about the size of a thumbnail, with thin wires trailing from one end. It was damp from the tea, and as the expert held it up, it gave one last feeble buzz before going silent.
"It’s dead," the expert said. "The liquid shorted it out. It’s no longer transmitting or recording."
"What is it?" Franz asked.
"A listening device. Sound-activated — it only powers on when it detects voices or significant noise. That’s why it lasted so long without a battery change. It wasn’t running constantly, only when there was something to record." The expert turned the device over in his palm. "The range is limited. To retrieve the recordings, someone would need to be within approximately three hundred meters. They’d have to come close to the estate."
Three hundred meters. Someone had been close. Someone had been close to their home, to their children, close enough to pull recordings of Leo’s bedtime conversations, Lily’s endless questions, Arianne’s private moments with the twins. Franz’s jaw tightened.
"How long has it been in there?"
"Hard to say without a full examination. Given the placement in the arm, the arm that was torn and repaired, it was likely inserted during the restoration process. Whoever repaired the doll put the device in before sewing it back together."
Gio made a sound that was almost a groan. "The restorer. I hired him. I should have—"
"Gio." Arianne’s voice cut through his guilt. "Later."
The expert was examining the device. "This isn’t commercially available. It’s specialized equipment, the kind of thing you’d need connections to acquire. Military surplus, perhaps, or private security suppliers. I can trace the serial number, find out who purchased it. It may take some time."
"Do it," Arianne said. "Whatever it costs."
The expert nodded. He placed the device in a small evidence bag and sealed it. Then he looked at the Lion, lying on the table with its arm detached, its stuffing visible through the open seam.
"Do you want me to—" He gestured at the doll.
"No," Franz said. "We’ll take care of it."
The expert packed his tools. Gio escorted him back through the garden, toward the drive where his car was waiting. Their footsteps faded into the afternoon.
Franz and Arianne were alone.