What do you listen for in silence?

It’s 4:30 a.m. and the range is empty, but I’m still standing at the shooting line. Not waiting for a shot—just listening. The silence isn’t nothing. It’s thick with what didn’t happen: missed targets, breaths held too long, the way an athlete’s body remembers a fall before their mind does. I keep wondering—what are we training for if not the space between the sound? What do you hear when everything stops?