Zoran arrived fifteen minutes early.
He wasn't even sure where exactly Nico wanted to talk—just that the text said "facility." So he waited in the parking lot, watching the morning mist fade from the windshield of a borrowed team vehicle he still technically wasn't authorized to use anymore.
No security tried to stop him.
He walked in through the same entrance as always. No badge swipe needed. No staff member even blinked.
He waited near the side hallway where the staff offices were, hands in his jacket pockets, back straight against the concrete wall. Every second dragged.
Finally, Nico Harrison stepped out of a glass-walled conference room, holding a cup of coffee.
"Come in."
Zoran followed.
The room was stark. No TV, no windows. Just a table, four chairs, a stack of folders, and a single Mavericks logo above the door.
Nico sat. Didn't motion for Zoran to do the same.
"You've had a hell of a 10-day," he started.
Zoran didn't answer.
"I've watched every clip. Your reads. Your discipline. You're not just playing with confidence—you're forcing us to question structure."
Still no response.
Nico sighed. "That's not always a good thing."
Now Zoran tilted his head slightly. "Is that why you blocked Orlando?"
Nico looked him dead in the eyes. "Yes."
There was no attempt to deny it.
"Why?"
"Because it would've made us look like idiots," Nico said plainly. "We pass on you in the draft. We pass on you in summer league. Then we give you a 10-day out of necessity, you shine—and then we let you walk to a division rival?"
Zoran said nothing.
Nico leaned back. "We had to pause. Make sure your performance wasn't just adrenaline. Game-to-game urgency."
"And?"
Nico tapped the folder. "You're efficient. Smart. But we already have a rotation guard coming back—Exum. We need size on the wing more than we need another guard. And I don't see you as a long-term defensive asset."
Zoran blinked. Once.
"So what are we doing here?"
Nico finally motioned to the chair across from him.
Zoran sat.
Nico slid a paper across the table. "We'll offer you a second 10-day. That's it. No promises beyond that. No guarantees about minutes. We're keeping our options open."
Zoran stared at the paper.
Same pay. Same terms. A footnote in the season.
He looked up. "You know I had a real offer from Orlando. Guaranteed. Rotation role. Maybe even a starting one."
"I do."
"And you killed it."
"I did."
Zoran leaned back.
"I like this team," he said. "I like the guys. I've tried to prove I belong. But if this is about optics, then let me walk."
Nico didn't blink. "You're not under contract. You can walk. But as long as we hold your rights, you can't sign anywhere else unless we release you."
Zoran's knuckles whitened against the table.
"So what's your plan? Keep me here, invisible, until Exum's healthy?"
"We'll evaluate daily," Nico said. "Take the second 10-day. Or don't."
Zoran stood slowly.
"I'll let you know."
Back in the hallway, Zoran breathed in slow and deep.
A second 10-day.
No promises. No long-term faith. Just a stall.
He walked outside. The Dallas sun had started to burn away the last of the cloud cover.
He didn't text Marko. He didn't answer the two missed calls from Orlando.
He walked to the far court of the practice gym and picked up a ball.
Dribble. Spin. Step-back.
Swish.
Again.
Mavericks Record: 5–4.
Zoran Vranes: Uncontracted. Offer for second 10-day pending.