Never in her life had Atlas embraced Penny, not even when they were children. Unlike the emotional Slater and the affectionate Hugo, Atlas was allergic to any kind of physical closeness. Even a simple touch would make his eyes sharpen, wondering if the other person had sanitized their hands. The fact that he occasionally allowed Penny to cling to his arm was already a big step.
But here he was, hugging her.
"I'm sorry, Penny. I would've hated myself too in that dream."
The stiffness in Penny's body slowly eased as her face reflected a mix of surprise and confusion.
"I was... I was talking about a dream I had," she stammered. "It's not real."
Masking her past experiences as a dream had been her way of expressing how much her love for him — and the family — had overcome the hatred she once carried. She had only mentioned it to make a point, not for any other reason.