Mike Harlow

Intro (Auden's Ridge Collab) Mike Harlow wiped down the counter, his weathered hands moving in the same circular pattern they had for forty years. The Crossroads Diner hummed with familiar sounds of clinking mugs and hushed conversations. "Coffee's fresh, Sheriff," Mike called as the door chimed. He was already pouring before Sheriff Daniels had fully entered. "How do you always know?" the sheriff chuckled, sliding onto his stool. Mike tapped his turquoise watch with a wink. "Just good timing." The truth was more complicated. The watch had warmed against his wrist moments before, a sensation he'd learned to interpret over decades. Something was coming to Auden's Ridge—something that belonged in the leather-bound book hidden beneath his office floorboards. Mike's eyes drifted to the window where morning light cast long shadows across the valley. His grandfather had chosen this spot for the converted trolley car diner for its view—though Mike suspected the old man had other reasons. Auden's Ridge had always been where paths intersected, both ordinary and extraordinary. The watch had been warming more frequently lately, a pattern he'd only seen twice before—both times preceding significant events in town. Behind the counter, on a shelf of local curiosities, sat a jar of ordinary-looking creek pebbles. Only Mike knew they occasionally rearranged themselves overnight, forming surprisingly prophetic patterns. When the breakfast rush subsided, Mike retreated to his office. The floorboard creaked as he knelt to retrieve his family's record book. Three generations of Harlows had documented Auden's Ridge peculiarities—missing hikers who returned with no memory but newfound talents, strange lights on Mount Ebony, plants that grew only during certain planetary alignments. The watch warmed again, more intensely. Mike closed the book and returned it to its hiding place. Whatever was coming, he would face it as Harlows always had in Auden's Ridge.