The spokesperson for the command, SP Wasiu Abiodun, who disclosed this in a statement at the weekend said the syndicate used private vehicles to lure unsuspecting victims under the guise of offering them lifts before allegedly drugging and abducting them to hideouts in neighbouring states.

According to the PPRO, istigation began after a case of criminal conspiracy and suspected kidnapping was reported at the Anti-Kidnapping Unit of the State Criminal Investigation Department, Minna, on May 14, 2026.

The police said the case involved a woman and her infant who were allegedly abducted by unknown gunmen in Suleja on February 7, 2026, while on her way to the market.

Two days after the abduction, the victim’s relatives reportedly received a call from an unknown number demanding N50 million ransom for her family.

Relatives allegedly raised N9.5 million, which was paid in instalments into three different bank accounts bearing different names.

Despite the payment, the victim was not released and the abductors allegedly threatened to k!ll her.

The victim eventually managed to escape, leaving behind personal belongings.

The Taraba Police Command has arrested two women for allegedly abducting three children in Jalingo and attempting to traffic them f to Adamawa.

It was gathered that the suspects, who are from one of the states in the South-East, were arrested at a filling station while travelling in a commercial vehicle with the three girls.

The women were reportedly taking the girls to Adamawa State when the driver of the vehicle became suspicious because the girls do not look like them. SupportingSocial Causes

The driver subsequently alerted members of his union, who then informed the police, leading to the arrest of the two women.

It was gathered that the suspects, both of whom are single, had rented a room in a house where the parents of the three girls reside about two weeks ago.

It was gathered that the incident occurred on Thursday morning when the women allegedly deceived the mothers of the girls by asking them to allow the children to accompany them to the market.

Instead of taking the girls to the market, the women reportedly took them to a motor park in Jalingo, where they chartered a vehicle to transport them and the children to Adamawa State.

At the police station, the women allegedly admitted that they took the girls away from the compound where they had rented a room after deceiving their mothers. SupportingSocial Causes

The girls, identified as Ummul Shuaibu, Ummul Baba Gasal and Amina Abubakar, are aged between five and six.

Abubakar Kwalli, the father of one of the girls, told Daily Trust that he and the fathers of the other two girls were invited to the Taraba State Police Command headquarters.

“We were surprised to see our children at the police headquarters. We were asked to identify them, which we did, but we were directed to bring our wives to further identify the children before they would be released to us,” he said.

Part 4 (Final): The Cartographer Who Drew Doors Between Worlds

Emeric made the three-day journey to Wren's isolated estate the following week, choosing deliberately to travel by ordinary road rather than relying on his family's magical doorway, both of them wanting genuine proof their connection could survive beyond simple magical convenience.

"You actually came," Wren said, genuine joy evident as she greeted him properly at her estate's entrance, three full days of ordinary travel behind him rather than the doorway's instant, magical convenience.

"I told you I would," Emeric said, smiling warmly despite obvious travel exhaustion. "I wanted to prove, both to you and myself, that what's grown between us exists independently of magic entirely."

They spent the following week together properly, exploring Wren's isolated estate, walking its extensive grounds, deepening their connection through ordinary, deliberate time spent together rather than relying on the doorway's magical shortcuts.

"I think you've properly proven your point," Wren said, laughing warmly during their final evening together before Emeric's scheduled return journey. "Three full days of ordinary travel, and I confess, I've fallen even more completely for you than our magical doorway conversations initially suggested."

"I feel exactly the same," Emeric admitted, reaching for her hand with genuine affection. "Though I confess, I'm rather reluctant to make the return journey, knowing it means several more days apart before I can properly see you again."

Wren studied him thoughtfully, an idea clearly forming. "What if you didn't have to leave at all? I have more than enough space here, and my estate's isolation has always felt considerably more like unwanted loneliness than genuine preference. Perhaps, if you're willing, we might discover whether building an actual life together properly, deliberately, beyond simply visiting back and forth suits us both."

Emeric felt his heart racing at the genuine, significant proposal underlying her careful words. "Are you asking me to stay, Wren? Permanently, I mean?"

"I suppose I am," Wren admitted, blushing slightly despite her evident sincerity. "Though I understand if that feels rather too significant a request, given how relatively brief our acquaintance technically remains."

"It doesn't feel too significant at all," Emeric said firmly, pulling her close with genuine certainty. "I've spent months feeling more genuinely connected to you than I have with almost anyone else in my entire life, magical doorway or otherwise. I'd like nothing more than building a proper life alongside you, Wren, deliberately and completely."

Six months later, having properly relocated his cartography work to accommodate life at Wren's estate, Emeric knelt carefully in the same garden where their impossible, magical connection had first begun, a small ring cradled gently in his hands.

"Wren," he said, genuine emotion evident in his voice, "a magical doorway first brought us together, entirely by grief-driven accident. But everything since every deliberate choice to keep returning, every genuine conversation, every conscious decision to build something real beyond simple magical convenience that's been entirely, completely ours. Will you marry me?"

"Yes," Wren said immediately, joyful tears spilling freely as she pulled him up into her embrace. "Completely, genuinely, without a single moment of hesitation."

As they embraced in her garden, the very spot where an impossible, grief-driven doorway had first, unexpectedly opened into genuine connection, Emeric understood profoundly that while magic might occasionally open unexpected doors, genuine lasting love always required the deliberate, continued choice of walking through them properly, together, regardless of whatever magical convenience first made the connection possible.

THE END 🚪🌿💍💛

Part 3: The Cartographer Who Drew Doors Between Worlds

Emeric returned the following evening, carefully sketching the same doorway on his workshop wall, uncertain whether the magic would cooperate a second time or whether the previous night's connection had simply been an unrepeatable accident.

The door shimmered to life, opening once again into Wren's familiar garden, relief and genuine excitement crossing both their faces as the connection proved successful.

"It worked," Emeric said, stepping through with growing confidence. "I confess, I wasn't entirely certain it would."

"I'm glad it did," Wren said, warmth evident in her welcoming smile. "I've been thinking about our conversation rather more than I probably should admit, given how brief our acquaintance technically remains."

Over the following weeks, Emeric returned regularly, their connection deepening steadily through consistent, deliberate visits rather than relying entirely on the doorway's initial, unpredictable magic. He learned about her careful management of the family estate, her quiet dreams of eventually traveling beyond its isolated boundaries; she learned about his cartography work, his family's guarded magical tradition, the genuine grief he still carried for Elowen alongside the unexpected, growing joy of discovering Wren.

"I've been thinking," Wren said one evening, several weeks into their regular, cherished visits, "about the nature of this doorway specifically. Doesn't it trouble you, relying on magic to maintain our connection? What happens if it eventually stops working, or if your family's caution about such magic proves justified after all?"

Emeric considered the question seriously, recognizing legitimate concern beneath her careful curiosity. "It does concern me, honestly. Though I've been wondering myself whether we might attempt building this connection beyond simply the doorway's magic finding a more permanent, physical way to properly visit each other, rather than relying entirely on uncertain magical convenience."

"I'd like that," Wren said, relief evident in her warm expression. "Though I confess, part of me worries our connection exists primarily because of the doorway's unusual novelty, rather than something that would properly survive more ordinary circumstances."

"I don't believe that's true," Emeric said firmly. "I think what's grown between us exists independently of the magic that first brought us together. The doorway simply provided opportunity. Everything since every genuine conversation, every deliberate choice to keep returning that's been entirely, authentically ours."

Wren studied him carefully, cautious hope evident in her searching gaze. "Then perhaps we should test that theory properly. Travel the ordinary distance between our homes, rather than simply relying on magical doorways, and discover whether our connection genuinely survives more conventional circumstances."

Emeric smiled, genuine warmth and growing certainty evident in his expression. "I'd like nothing more, Wren. Let's discover it together, properly, beyond simply magical convenience."

to be continued... 🚪💫

Part 2: The Cartographer Who Drew Doors Between Worlds

Emeric stood frozen at the threshold, torn between old caution and inexplicable curiosity. "I don't fully understand how this magic works, if I'm honest. My family has always been rather careful about using it, precisely because outcomes like this unpredictable, uncontrolled are exactly what my grandmother always warned against."

"Perhaps unpredictable isn't inherently dangerous," Wren offered, rising from her garden work to study him properly. "Perhaps it simply means the magic responded to something neither of us consciously anticipated."

"Such as?" Emeric asked, curious despite himself.

Wren considered the question thoughtfully. "Grief, certainly, initially drove your drawing. But grief and loneliness aren't entirely dissimilar, are they? Perhaps your magic recognized something in me—someone equally isolated, if for entirely different reasons—and decided that connection mattered more than simply granting your original, grief-driven request."

Emeric studied her, cautious curiosity building steadily despite years of careful family tradition warning against exactly this kind of unpredictable magical outcome. "May I ask what's caused your own loneliness? If you're comfortable sharing, that is."

Wren's expression grew slightly more guarded, though she answered honestly regardless. "My family's estate is rather isolated, tucked away from the nearest village by considerable distance. I've spent years managing the property largely alone, since my parents passed several years back. I love the solitude, mostly, though I confess certain evenings prove considerably more difficult than others."

"I understand that particular loneliness more than you might expect," Emeric admitted. "My work as a cartographer keeps me rather isolated too, especially since losing Elowen. She was genuinely my closest connection to the outside world, beyond simply professional collaboration."

They studied each other across the strange, impossible threshold, something unspoken but increasingly undeniable growing steadily between them despite the bizarre circumstances of their meeting.

"Would it be terribly forward," Wren asked carefully, "to invite you through properly? Rather than simply conversing across this unusual doorway?"

Emeric hesitated only briefly before stepping through completely, the doorway's shimmering edges settling calmly once he'd fully crossed the threshold. "Thank you," he said, genuinely moved by her open, welcoming invitation. "I confess, I hadn't expected tonight's grief to lead toward anything resembling genuine connection."

"Neither had I," Wren admitted, smiling warmly. "Though I find myself rather grateful for whatever inexplicable magic decided otherwise."

They spent the following hours talking easily, comfortable warmth building steadily between two people who'd both been carrying quiet loneliness far longer than either had properly acknowledged, even to themselves.

"I should probably return home eventually," Emeric said reluctantly, glancing back toward the still-shimmering doorway. "Though I confess, I'm rather hesitant to close this particular connection so soon after discovering it."

"Then don't," Wren said simply. "Return again, whenever you'd like. I find myself genuinely hoping this isn't simply a single, strange encounter."

to be continued... 🚪💛

The Cartographer Who Drew Doors Between Worlds

Every map Emeric drew held one peculiar quality passed down through his family for generations draw a door onto any wall, precise and detailed enough, and it would briefly, genuinely open into wherever the cartographer's heart most desperately needed to go.

He'd used the gift sparingly his entire life, wary of his grandmother's old warning: doors drawn from grief or desperation sometimes opened somewhere unexpected, dangerous, difficult to properly close again.

Tonight, mourning the sudden loss of his research partner and closest friend, Elowen, he found himself sketching frantically on his workshop wall, grief overriding years of careful caution.

The door shimmered to life beneath his charcoal, and rather than closing properly once finished, it remained open revealing not *****'s mysterious beyond, but instead a small, sunlit garden Emeric didn't recognize.

A woman knelt among flowering herbs, glancing up in startled surprise as the impossible doorway opened directly into her quiet afternoon.

"Who are you?" she asked, more curious than alarmed. "And how exactly did you just appear in my private garden?"

"I'm not entirely certain," Emeric admitted, equally startled by the doorway's unexpected destination. "I drew this door out of grief, searching for my deceased friend. I never anticipated it opening somewhere else entirely."

The woman studied him with growing interest. "I'm Wren. This garden belongs to my family's estate. I confess, I've never had anyone appear through inexplicable, magical doorways before."

"I'm Emeric," he said, still processing the strange turn of events. "I apologize for the intrusion. I should probably close this immediately, before it causes any further confusion."

"Wait," Wren said quickly, surprising them both. "Perhaps you shouldn't. I've been feeling rather inexplicably lonely lately, if I'm honest, despite having no rational reason for it. Perhaps this doorway opened here for reasons neither of us properly understand yet."

Emeric studied her curiously, grief momentarily forgotten in favor of genuine, unexpected fascination. "You believe magical doorways occasionally serve purposes beyond their caster's original intent?"

"I believe," Wren said, smiling warmly, "that inexplicable magic occasionally understands what we actually need, rather than simply what we consciously believe we're searching for."

to be continued... 🚪🌿

Part 4 (Final): The Weaver of Second Sunrises

Corin stayed the following morning, reluctant to leave despite having no practical reason remaining to linger at Ondine's small cottage. Their conversation continued naturally, easy warmth building steadily between them as they discussed everything from her craft to his grief, from careful caution to genuine hope.

"I should probably return home eventually," he admitted, though visible reluctance colored his words. "Though I find myself rather unwilling to simply walk away after everything we've shared tonight."

"You don't have to rush," Ondine said, surprising herself with the genuine invitation. "Perhaps stay a while longer. I confess, I've enjoyed your company rather more than I anticipated, given the unusual circumstances of your visit."

Over the following weeks, Corin found reasons to visit regularly, their initial connection deepening steadily into something neither had quite expected from such an unusual, emotionally intense beginning.

"I keep thinking about what you said," Ondine admitted one evening, several weeks into their growing relationship, "about the gift healing regret rather than simply altering history. I think, perhaps, I've been guarding my own gift so carefully all these years partly out of fear fear of using it wrongly, but also fear of genuine connection itself, hiding behind careful caution rather than properly risking vulnerability."

Corin studied her thoughtfully. "Is that changing now?"

"I think it might be," Ondine said softly, meeting his gaze with growing certainty. "Meeting you, watching you find genuine healing through my craft, has taught me something valuable about trusting instinct rather than excessive caution."

Corin reached for her hand, warmth and genuine affection evident in his gentle touch. "I'm grateful for that lesson, Ondine, though I confess, I'm equally grateful simply for finding you specifically. I don't think I properly understood how lonely I'd become, carrying grief entirely alone, until you helped me finally heal it."

Six months later, standing together in the same small cottage where their unlikely, profound connection had first begun, Corin knelt carefully before her, a small ring cradled gently in his hands.

"Ondine," he said, genuine emotion evident in his voice, "you gave me the rare, precious gift of finally healing old regret. I'd like to spend the rest of my life giving you something in return genuine partnership, deliberate love, chosen freely rather than granted through any magical necessity. Will you marry me?"

Ondine felt tears filling her eyes, overwhelming joy and complete certainty settling into her chest. "Yes," she said immediately, pulling him up into her arms. "Completely, genuinely, without a single moment of hesitation."

As they embraced in her small cottage, surrounded by countless threads and unfinished tapestries representing decades of careful, guarded solitude now finally, beautifully complete, Ondine understood profoundly that her rare gift.once used only once, tentatively, for a grieving stranger had ultimately led her toward exactly the genuine, lasting connection she'd unknowingly spent thirty years waiting to properly discover.

THE END 🧵🌅💍💛

Part 3: The Weaver of Second Sunrises

Ondine watched Corin carefully, professional curiosity mixing with genuine, personal investment in the outcome of her very first attempt at this rare, precious magic. "Did it change anything? Beyond simply granting you closure, I mean."

Corin considered the question seriously, processing everything he'd just experienced. "I don't know yet, honestly. The day itself is unchanged in terms of actual history my father still passed this morning, precisely as the letter informed me. But something feels different internally, somehow. Lighter, perhaps."

"Perhaps that's precisely the gift's true purpose," Ondine offered gently. "Not to alter history itself, but to properly heal whatever regret might otherwise remain permanently unresolved."

Corin nodded slowly, understanding dawning. "I think you're right. I don't feel the same crushing guilt I did before, walking through your door tonight. Instead, I feel... genuine peace, actually. Knowing he heard me properly, even if only within borrowed, impossible time."

They sat together in comfortable silence for a while, Corin processing his profound emotional experience while Ondine studied him with growing, unexpected curiosity of her own.

"Can I ask you something?" Corin said eventually. "Why did you choose to use this gift on me specifically? You mentioned you'd guarded it for thirty years, waiting for the right moment. What made tonight, and me specifically, feel like that moment?"

Ondine considered the question thoughtfully. "Honestly, I'm not entirely certain. I simply felt an undeniable pull the moment I saw you collapsed outside my cottage, grief written so plainly across your features. Something told me, quite clearly, that helping you represented exactly the purpose I'd been waiting three decades to properly fulfill."

"I'm deeply grateful you trusted that instinct," Corin said sincerely. "Though I confess, I'm curious what compelled you to guard such a rare, powerful gift so carefully all these years, rather than simply using it earlier."

Ondine's expression grew thoughtful, old memory surfacing slowly. "I suppose I've always been rather cautious by nature, worried about using something so powerful carelessly, or for reasons that might later prove selfish rather than genuinely necessary. Watching your grief tonight, though, felt entirely, unmistakably right."

Corin studied her with growing warmth, genuine appreciation evident in his tired but peaceful expression. "I think, perhaps, your caution served you well, actually. Waiting for exactly the right moment, rather than using such precious magic carelessly."

"Perhaps," Ondine agreed, feeling an unexpected flutter of connection stirring in her own chest. "Though I confess, I hadn't anticipated feeling quite this personally invested in the outcome, watching you experience such profound healing tonight."

Corin met her gaze properly, something warm and increasingly genuine passing between them despite the strange, emotional circumstances of their meeting. "I find myself rather grateful for that personal investment, Ondine. Beyond simply the magical assistance, I mean."

to be continued... 🧵💫

Part 2: The Weaver of Second Sunrises

Corin blinked into sudden, disorienting awareness, finding himself standing in his father's familiar kitchen exactly as it had looked three years earlier before grief, before distance, before the argument that had cost them their final years together.

His father stood at the counter, alive and unmistakably present, exactly as Corin remembered him before everything went wrong.

"You're late," his father said, not yet aware anything unusual had occurred. "We were supposed to discuss the property transfer an hour ago."

Corin felt overwhelming emotion rising, three years of grief and regret colliding violently with impossible, precious opportunity. "Dad," he said, voice breaking. "I need to tell you something first, before we discuss anything else."

His father studied him, confusion evident at his son's uncharacteristic urgency. "What's wrong, Corin?"

"I love you," Corin said immediately, refusing to let pride delay the words this time. "Regardless of whatever we're about to argue about today, regardless of how frustrated we might become with each other I need you to know that first, clearly, before anything else gets said."

His father's expression softened with visible surprise. "That's rather sudden, son. Is everything alright?"

"I don't know how to properly explain," Corin admitted honestly. "I just know I don't want pride to keep either of us silent about what actually matters most, especially not today."

They proceeded through the difficult property discussion that followed, old disagreements still surfacing exactly as they originally had stubborn opinions, genuine frustration, the same fundamental disagreement that had originally driven them apart. But this time, Corin refused to let anger have the final word.

"I disagree with you completely about this," he said firmly, near the argument's peak, "and I probably always will. But disagreeing doesn't mean I love you any less, Dad. I should have said that three years ago, instead of letting stubborn pride keep us apart."

His father's expression shifted slowly, old defensiveness giving way to something more vulnerable. "I've missed you, son. More than my own pride ever properly allowed me to admit."

"I've missed you too," Corin said, embracing his father tightly, three years of unnecessary distance finally, properly resolving within this single, precious repeated day.

They talked for hours afterward, genuine reconciliation replacing the bitter silence that had originally followed their argument, rebuilding connection neither had known how to properly repair the first time around.

As evening approached, Corin felt the day's borrowed time beginning to waver, golden light shimmering faintly at the edges of his vision.

"I need you to know," he said quickly, sensing his time rapidly running short, "however this day actually ends, I'm deeply grateful for this chance to properly tell you I love you, Dad. Regardless of anything else."

His father's eyes filled with emotional tears. "I love you too, son. Completely, regardless of whatever disagreements we might continue having."

The kitchen dissolved gently around him, golden light overtaking his vision entirely, and Corin found himself blinking back into Ondine's small cottage, tears streaming freely down his face.

"It worked," he breathed, astonished and profoundly grateful. "I finally told him. Properly, completely, exactly as I should have three years ago."

to be continued... 🧵💛

The Weaver of Second Sunrises

In the village of Thornmere, everyone knew Ondine could weave a single, precious tapestry once in her lifetime one capable of granting its owner a single day lived over again, exactly as it happened, save for one choice they were finally free to make differently.

She'd guarded the secret of her unused gift for thirty years, waiting for the day she'd know, without doubt, which day of her own life deserved that rare, impossible chance. Tonight, watching a grieving stranger collapse outside her small cottage, sobbing over a letter clutched desperately in his hand, she felt the pull toward her loom stir for the first time in decades.

"I'm sorry to intrude," he said, wiping his eyes as she helped him inside. "I received word my father passed this morning. We hadn't spoken in three years a foolish argument, the kind neither of us knew how to properly walk back from. I'll never get the chance to fix it now."

Ondine studied him carefully, old instinct stirring insistently in her chest. "What's your name?"

"Corin," he said, voice hoarse with grief.

"I have something that might help," Ondine said slowly, moving toward her loom with trembling, uncertain hands. "Though I confess, I've never actually used this particular gift before, on myself or anyone else."

She explained the tapestry's rare, singular magic as she worked one day, lived again exactly as it happened, save for a single choice changed. Corin listened with disbelieving hope, watching her weave threads that seemed to shimmer with something far beyond ordinary fabric.

"Which day would you choose?" she asked once the tapestry neared completion. "If given this chance."

"The day of our argument," Corin said without hesitation. "Three years ago. I'd tell him I loved him, despite our disagreement, instead of letting pride keep me silent."

Ondine nodded, weaving the final threads carefully, feeling the tapestry's ancient magic gathering steadily beneath her careful hands. "Then let's give you that chance, Corin. Properly, completely."

As she tied the final knot, golden light spread warmly across the tapestry's surface, and Corin's eyes glazed briefly before he vanished entirely from her small cottage pulled backward, impossibly, into a single day he'd give anything to properly relive.

Ondine sat back, exhausted but strangely fulfilled, waiting to discover whether her first use of this rare, precious gift had properly succeeded.

to be continued... 🧵🌅