Slip into Spectre Wraith and the night seems to lean closer. A dark splash of rum warms the skin as spices crackle like embers — immediate, plush, and a little dangerous. Minutes later, a vein of freshly pulled coffee rises through sandalwood and patchouli, giving the scent that late-night lounge energy: leather seats, low light, velvet shadows. Vetiver threads an earthy coolness that keeps the sweetness in check.

In the dry-down, an unexpected sugar-cane glow softens the edges — not gourmand dessert, but a dusky, molasses-like sheen that clings to fabric and memory. Wearing it feels like slipping on a black tux jacket after midnight: measured power, quiet decadence, unmistakable presence. You don’t need to speak; Wraith does the talking for you.