The door flies open, banging against the wall and bouncing off, with Tess bursting through like a cannonball. If anyone was still asleep, they aren’t now. She has twigs in her hair, oil up to her knees and elbows, bruises and scrapes, and she looks like a madwoman - but a relieved one now. “Fucking hell,” she says, then sprints toward their group hug with force, keen to join in.