Chapter 387: Telepathy, the Vocal Stimulation Took Effect

The night passed peacefully, and just as dawn was breaking, Wren Sutton groggily drifted into a dream.

This dream was incredibly clear and realistic. The setting was the intensive care unit.

The cold, rhythmic beeping of the machines echoed in her ears, and the green light of the monitor flashed steadily.

Adrian Lancaster lay quietly on the hospital bed, his face pale and his eyes tightly shut.

The next moment, his brow furrowed. It was no longer the placid calm of unconsciousness, but a look tinged with urgency and struggle.

Adrian Lancaster’s fingers twitched, as if he were trying to lift his hand to grab onto something.

Then, his lips began to tremble slightly. It wasn’t an involuntary twitch, but a determined effort, opening and closing repeatedly as if he were desperately trying to form a word, to call out a name.

"Wren..."

The faint, breathy whisper seemed to sound right in her ear, weak yet distinct.

Adrian Lancaster couldn’t open his eyes, but Wren Sutton could clearly feel his consciousness desperately fighting to break through the darkness. He was urgently trying to find her, to tell her that he could hear her, that he was trying to wake up, begging her not to give up on him...

He also wanted to tell Wren Sutton that he’d heard their children calling him "Dad," heard her loving confession, and heard the calls of all their dearest family members.

He wanted to wake up, to return to her side immediately.

Adrian Lancaster’s expression was anxious, with a hint of frustration, like someone who had been trapped in darkness for too long and had finally caught a sliver of light, desperate to run to Wren Sutton at the first possible moment.

The dream was so real that even the rise and fall of Adrian Lancaster’s breathing, the lines creasing his brow, and the curl of his fingertips were all perfectly clear.

In the dream, Wren Sutton wanted to reach out and hold him, to tell him she was right there, but her body felt paralyzed, completely unable to move.

Just as her anxiety reached a fever pitch, she was jolted awake.

Outside the window, the sky was just beginning to turn a pale grey. All was quiet except for the sound of her own heart pounding in her chest.

’This dream was too real. It didn’t feel like a dream at all, more like a call reaching across consciousness.’

Wren Sutton’s heart hammered against her ribs. A powerful intuition washed over her: Adrian Lancaster was calling for her.

’He’s responding. He’s waiting for me.’

Wren Sutton couldn’t bear to lie in bed a moment longer. She immediately scrambled out from under the covers.

After a quick wash, she rushed out the door without even stopping for breakfast.

...

On this early morning in late autumn, a deep chill enveloped the entire city.

The wind swirled with withered leaves from the plane and ginkgo trees, sending them spiraling down to the street. A thin layer of fallen leaves covered the ground, rustling with every step.

Since she was leaving earlier than usual, Wren Sutton sent a last-minute message to her personal driver, Master Morgan, telling him not to pick her up. She took a taxi to the hospital instead.

The ICU corridor was exceptionally quiet in the early morning, with only the nurses on duty bustling in and out.

Wren Sutton walked over to greet one of them. She took a small, portable Bluetooth speaker from her bag and handed it to the nurse with both hands.

"This is an audio file I recorded last night. It has the voices of everyone in my family. In the arousal protocol the specialist developed yesterday, they mentioned that repeatedly stimulating the patient with the familiar voices of loved ones can help them wake up."

Wren Sutton’s tone was steady and composed, but her eyes were full of entreaty.

"Could you please place this by Adrian Lancaster’s bed and play it on a loop? Please, thank you."

Auditory stimulation was indeed consistent with the treatment plan, so the nurse agreed without hesitation.

"Of course. I’ll take it in and start playing it right away."

"Thank you, thank you so much..."

Wren Sutton watched the nurse disappear through the heavy door. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and then waited quietly outside.

Inside the intensive care unit, various monitors were arranged neatly, emitting a steady, rhythmic beeping.

The oppressive atmosphere of the room was tinged with a hint of anticipation for the warm voices that were about to fill it.

A nurse turned on the Bluetooth speaker and carefully placed it by Adrian Lancaster’s pillow, right next to the family photograph.

They adjusted the volume so that Adrian Lancaster could hear it without disturbing the other patients.

The next moment, a gentle, warm sound began to flow through the quiet ICU room, dispelling some of the cold, clinical feel of the machines.

The first sounds were the soft, sweet baby-talk of Owen and Nina, their babbling murmurs and broken attempts at "Da... Dada... Daddy..."

The children’s carefree, bright laughter, so pure and clear, was like a ray of warm sunshine piercing through to Adrian Lancaster’s heart.

Next came Wren Sutton’s soft and deeply affectionate confession, the kind and earnest words of Mr. and Mrs. Sutton, Theodore Lancaster’s steady encouragement, Claire Sterling’s gentle hopes, and the blessings of the entire family...

Each segment, filled with love and longing, gently swirled around Adrian Lancaster’s ears.

Time trickled by, second by second, with the beeping of the monitor as the only accompaniment in the room.

Adrian Lancaster’s eyes remained shut and his face was calm, but the previously flat line of his heart rate had quietly begun to show the slightest fluctuation.

The recording continued to play on a loop.

Owen and Nina’s babbling voices were exceptionally clear.

"Da... Dad..."

Each call of "Daddy" tapped gently against Adrian Lancaster’s heart.

After the recording had looped an unknown number of times, an astonishing change occurred.

The fingers of Adrian Lancaster’s right hand suddenly clenched.

It wasn’t an involuntary twitch but a movement clearly driven by consciousness. His knuckles bent slightly and his fingertips curled inward, as if he were trying to grab something, or perhaps to respond with all his might.

Immediately after, his closed eyelids began to flutter violently, his eyeballs moving rapidly beneath them.

It was like the rapid eye movement phase of deep sleep, yet it was filled with a powerful sense of struggle, as if at any second he might force his eyelids open to see who was there.

The muscles around his eyes tensed slightly, and his brow furrowed gently—an astonishing match to the image from Wren Sutton’s dream.

Then came a slight upward twitch at the corners of his mouth.

It was faint, almost imperceptible, not an involuntary quiver of relaxed muscles, but rather an effort to form the hint of a smile, to answer his children’s calls.

The changes on the monitor were even more telling.

His heart rate climbed slightly but distinctly, no longer a flat, unchanging line.

The blood oxygen curve showed continuous, subtle fluctuations, and his respiratory rhythm quickened in tandem.

All the data pointed to a single fact: Adrian Lancaster’s brain was processing the sounds, and his body was giving a positive response.

Several of the medical staff exchanged glances, their eyes shining with surprised relief, and they immediately bent down to record the data.

"The patient is responding. It’s a very clear conscious reaction, even stronger than yesterday."

"His neurological reflexes and brainwaves are fluctuating, especially when he hears the children’s voices. The movements in his fingers and eyelids are excellent signs of arousal. This auditory stimulation therapy is working."

At that moment, the first ray of morning sunlight pierced through the corridor window and fell upon Wren Sutton, warm as an embrace from behind.