The range goes quiet at 4 a.m. — I keep hearing the miss

It's not a real dream, it's the half-awake one: I'm standing at the firing line, rifle up, and the shot goes off before I've decided to take it. The target stays white. No crowd, no wind, no reset — just me and that whiff of gunpowder hanging in the cold. I used to coach that moment away. Lately I just stand in it and let it ask me something.