After discovering that the monster that had kidnapped her and tried to force his way into her mind was related to Han Solo and Leia Organa, Rey had had her entire worldview shaken up. She'd thought she had no real identity, no sense of self, because she didn't know who her parents were or where she'd come from. But if this man who'd been named after a Jedi Master and came from such a heroic family could devolve into the thing he was today... then clearly Rey had been placing too much stock in her heritage. She wouldn't admit it, not out loud, but she'd at least learned that she couldn't stand still and wait for an identity to be bestowed upon her rather than earn one for herself.

As such, Luke had no more reason to apologize to her than Han or Leia would have. Ben Solo had made his choice, and his choice had been to turn away from a legacy unlike any of which the galaxy had ever known in an attempt to embrace the darkness. Luke hadn't forced that choice upon him, no more than he'd forced her into that chair on Starkiller and held her down so his nephew could try and violate her mind.

So the apology was unexpected, almost as much as the embrace, considering how cautious they'd both been with physical contact ever since this whole thing between them — whatever it was — had started. She stood there for a moment in quiet shock, unsure of what she could do, of what she dared to do. Finally admitting that there didn't need to be any pretenses between them, Rey allowed herself to relax, leaning in against him and burrowing her face against the crook of his neck as her arms wound around him in return.

"Don't be sorry," she whispered softly. "If nothing else... it brought me to you."